


For Evermore

by mchotstufff



Series: Disney Tales: Retold [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments (Movies), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Abuse, Adventure, Beast! Alec, Beauty and the Beast, Beauty and the Beast AU, Beauty! Magnus, Child Abuse, Cogsworth! Jace, F/M, French, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love, Lumiere! Simon, M/M, Madzie - Freeform, Mentions of Catarina, Mentions of Jonathan/Sebastian, No sudden musical numbers, Not Beta Read, Physical Abuse, Plumette! Isabelle, Romance, google translate french, no sudden beheadings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-10-13 04:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mchotstufff/pseuds/mchotstufff
Summary: Once upon a time, in the hidden heart of France, in a beautiful castle, lived a prince who hardened his heart. One night, an old woman shows up at the castle asking for shelter from the bitter cold. Disgusted by her appearance, the prince sneers and turns away the woman. In return, the woman transforms into a beautiful enchantress and places a curse upon the castle and everyone who lived in it. She swore that if he could not learn to love someone, and earn their love in return before the last petal fell, then he was doomed to remain a beast forever. As the days melted into years, the castle and its inhabitants were forgotten by the rest of the world - as the enchantress made it so. The prince hardened his cold heart and lost all hope of redemption.For who could ever learn to love a beast?Magnus Bane, a young man in the neighboring village, wants more the poor provincial life that was given to him the moment he moved there. When his mother suddenly goes missing, Magnus must run to rescue her - even if that means giving his life up in order to do so.The two must learn from one another as they face a tale full of adventure, love, and tragic endings.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:
> 
> depiction of child abuse  
> mentions of child abuse  
> depiction of abuse

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

_Five._

The numbers kept spilling from out of his lips like a prayer. They were as numb as the marks on his back, but they still held power over him nonetheless.

_Ten._

_Fifteen._

_“Twenty,”_ he spat, his body slack and pressed against the cool hard floor.

The endarkened figure that haunted his nightmares, his dreams, and his reality stood towering above him, stuffing his pockets and wiping off his hands. His father always had to be kept in the most pristine of conditions. Any speck of dust meant a speck of dirt on his name and fortune.

“This is what it means to be a man in this family,” he lectured. “I learned it when I was a boy. Now you, and then Maxwell when he is older.”

Alec loosed a growl and the familiar press of a steel-toed boot pressed into his raw open back. The fire of rage burned through his body rather than the pain of his wounds.

 _“You will not harm him,”_ Alec threatened.

His father laughed dryly as a strong feminine voice came from the main room above.

_“Robert? Dear, supper is ready.”_

_Maman,_ Alec wanted to cry out. But it was useless then and it was useless now.

He slumped onto the ground, succumbing to the force of both his father’s foot and the shame settling in his stomach. A stiff hand slipped through his hair and yanked his face forward higher and higher, uncomfortable stretching to his limits, till he was facing the monster of countless nightmares.

“Clean up this mess. It’s filthy,” he spat and threw his own child to the ground before calling out to his wife with endearment.

“Coming, _mon cher_ ,” he replied, taking his steps one at a time with ease before allowing the door to close and leave the eldest son alone in the dark with his thoughts.

.

 _“Clean up this mess. It’s filthy,_ ” he spat, his hand shaking and poised to smack the ignorant servant for having fallen and knocking over one of the Lightwood heirlooms. His hand was raised and the sound of his heart thundered in his ears and fist.

“ _Alexander Gideon Lightwood, you will not harm that girl,_ ” his sister demanded from the doorway of the ballroom.

Alec turned and stared at his sister with the same cold look he had learned to use from his father. _It is better to be feared, than loved,_ he had said.

Isabelle made her way over, taking the duster from the other girl’s hands and urged her to leave the room immediately - which she did so gratefully. She turned the feathered weapon on him, jabbing the thing into his chest.

“You’re sounding like _him._ ”

He growled, yanking the duster out of her grasp and tossing it towards the horribly cleaned drapes. “You have no say in what I do or do not do within these walls.”

“Oh, if that’s how you want to go about this…” Isabelle stood akimbo. “Alec, you and I both know that mother would have never wanted this to come of you and most certainly our _home_ -”

Alec snapped. _“You will not bring up that lowly pute in my presence again, or so help me Isabelle…”_

The sound of skin against skin echoed throughout the entire ballroom endlessly. His eyes were wide with rage, shock, surprise, and sadness. She exhaled deeply.

“Damn you. You’re no better than him.”

She left him standing there with a hand to his cheek and a deeper hole in his heart.

_Everyone leaves. Everyone will always leave. Yet, pain will always stay._

.

Alec found himself throwing himself a party to spite his sister, and more importantly, his father. It would be greater and louder than anything they had ever held before. Women from neighboring territories - _men from neighboring territories._ He would have them all in one place where he could lose sense of himself, along with the help of some very heavy alcohol.

He had the entire room planned out. The throne would be repositioned to face out into the crowd with smaller golden chandeliers encircling the walls and three larger chandeliers would go down the middle. Gold and white embellishments would adorn the walls. Two large tables full of food and wine.

He was lost to the mere thought of the occasion.

Isabelle stormed into the overly-active ballroom, nearly toppling into one of the bustling servants trying to hang one of the chandeliers. “Alexan - _Alec._ What are you _doing?_ ”

He held his arms tightly around his back, standing tall. Like father. He brushed a speck of dust off from his shoulder before turning his attention to her.

“What else? A party. _A ball_.”

She scoffed. “I can see that. But what of the _costs_? Alec, we cannot spend our wealth however we wish. It reflects upon the people. They barely have enough as it is..” She paused.

Alec stared at her. “...And?”

Her face fell. “And you don’t care.”

“Isabelle, it’s about time that you realize,” he leaned in close. “I haven’t cared for several years now.”

Now it was him who left her speechless in the ballroom as he made his way to his chambers to get dressed for a night full of regrets and mistakes.

His personal assistant, of sorts, - Clary, he believed her name was - was waiting for his in his chambers when he arrived in his normally timed huff. She had his outfit laid out along the surface of the perfectly made bed and a powder pad strapped and ready to her hand.

_“Monsieur.”_

Alec sat himself down and the woman got to work doing what she did fairly well at - not expertly, but it would suffice until he could find the right replacement.

It took the servants all of about two hours to finish tidying the ballroom into his current, party-ready condition. It took another hour for the ballroom to actually fill with beautiful people and beautiful food and wine. He made his way down the stairs fifteen minutes later.

_A dramatic entrance is louder than a timely one._

The doors were gracefully opened by the servants waiting for him there and the attendant within announced his princely arrival. Alec did what he did best, stood tall and strong with a stoic face until he could have a moment to himself.

The women below had their eyes glued all over him. They traveled up and down his body, noting how perfectly straight his jacket was buttoned and how tight his pants wrapped around his perfect bottom. His hair was brushed back, slick and stern. There were several men who couldn’t help but stare at the man that threatened to steal their women away - none of which would actually be interested in him.

Alec took his rightful place on the dias and the party resumed its chorus manner. It wasn’t long until he was approached.

 _“Monsieur,_ ” a familiar voice came from over his shoulder.

Simon, a timid advisor he had chosen himself, was trying to gain his attention. Alec waved him over.

“ _Merci, monsieur,_ ” he continued. “There is a certain… development that may concern you…”

Alec was paying the man no attention. His eyes were too busy hunting the crowd like a predator for prey. There was so much skin in such a small room. He could have anyone he liked, so long as they could be paid.

“... you see.. There is someone at the gates…”

He wouldn’t even mind settling for any of the women in the room so long as they didn’t mind not making eye contact with him. His imagination was enough to suffice him the few moments it would take to get some sort of release.

Another of his personal advisors, and brother, Jace, quickly arrived as well with sweat on his brow and his breath thin.

That caught his attention.

“What is it?”

Simon huffed and Jace took lead. “There is…”

Alec couldn’t hear what else Jace had to say. A storm had brewed in the forest and its winds were beating down the doors with fervent malevolence. The knocking on the doors grew louder and louder, swinging the chandeliers and effectively blowing one off of its hinge and sending it falling to the floor as the balcony doors blew open.

Glass was sent everywhere. There was no surface of the floor that was not covered by it.

Women and men were wounded, Alec was in shock, and there was a figure hovering at the entrance of the doors.

_That’s a balcony. How could anyone come in through there?_

Alec stood from his chair, foolishly making the attempt to face the shadows before the fear in him swallowed him whole. He gulped, clenching his fists and shouting at the form. A bolt of lightning enlightened the sky, rain following in its suit and blowing its cold air into the ballroom.

It was then that Alec could identify the figure as a woman.

A ragged old woman.

Her entrance into the room was something unrealistic. For every step she made, the guests took twice as many steps backwards. Her stringy, rain-swamped hair hung low from her body. The cloak - or what could be left of one - was even more soaked and splattered with mud from hood to hem. There was age written all about her face, and Alec couldn’t help seeing bits of his mother in this woman - making a bubbling sense of anger rile his blood.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my home?” he demanded of the woman, not backing down as she slowly diminished the space between them.

The woman fell to a knee when she reached Alec, out of breath and energy. “Please,” she begged. “I am but a simple woman in need of some shelter from the bitter cold.”

Alec sneered. “And what would you offer me in return for my help?”

Her hand slipped within the confines of her cloak as she pleaded with the raging man and pulled out a single red rose. It wasn’t as lively as when she must have first picked it. There were several petals already wilting and the leaves were hanging poorly.

Alec let out a dry laugh, earning the same response from the people behind him. “A rose? A _dying rose_? Not even the lowest of men would accept that offer,” he mocked, taking the rose and crushing it before allowing it to sink to the floor with utter hatred. Him and his people continued to mock and taunt the elder woman, not realizing she was indeed directing her attention towards the cruel man.

“You shouldn’t be deceived by appearances,” she had said to him. “For beauty is found within.”

Alec finished his laugh, turning his attention back towards the woman. “What are you saying?”  
He couldn’t get his question out before the woman stood at full length before him - tall and utterly stunning, even for a woman.

He was stunned to say the least. As was everyone else in the room.

Gone was her outer, aged appearance. The woman that now stood in front of him was that of an enchantress; long dark hair, blue reflective eyes, and painfully pale skin. She pulled her now elegant cloak around her body, moving and circling around the male like he was the prey of the event all along. Her eyes stabbed daggered into his far too fragile armor.

“ _Please_ ,” he begged. “ _I shall give you shelter._ ”

The woman laughed and it was like bells twinkling in the breeze. “Oh, it’s far too late for that.”  
She made a full circle around the man before reaching her place before the discarded rose and picked it up with as much grace as there was in her body and spirit. The rose too was transformed into a true peace of beauty - healthy and glowing.

“I can tell that there is no love in your heart, Alexander Gideon Lightwood.”

“How do you know…” he stammered, but she silenced him with placing the rose to his lips.

“No love. As stubborn as the bull you hunt. As power-hungry as a lion, yet as short tempered as a ram. These are the qualities you posses, Alexander. And I curse you to live with them as a part of your being.”

Alec opened his mouth but the sharp feeling of pain overwhelmed his need to speak and plead for his release. This kind of pain was unlike anything he was used to receiving. It was raw, powerful, and transforming him. He couldn’t hear as the room was being cleared with cries and screams from the people he had invited. He did, however, hear his siblings voices as they grew closer and closer into the emptying ballroom.

“Alec!” both his brother and sister cried.

The woman turned her gaze upon them, and Alec knew what was going to happen.

“As consequence for your actions tonight, I curse you Alexander and everyone else who lives in this castle,” she calmly explained as the pain was slowly blinding Alec as bones shifted and reformed into a shape even he could not believe. “Since you were so beastly to a woman like me, you shall be doomed to remain one for the rest of eternity.”

Alec cried out, his voice deepening and turning into a deep rumbling roar.

“However…” she continued, stepping away from him and lifting her hood. “I shall leave you with this. If you can learn to love someone, and earn their love in return by the time the last petal falls on that rose, then _and only then_ , shall my curse be broken.”

With that, she whisked into the night as if she was made of shadows and darkness. The echoes of cries filled the castle until Alec could no longer keep his eyes open.

.

He awoke to the sound of the doors being swung into the walls and scraping against fallen glass. His body was so achingly _heavy_. Alec tried to lift himself onto his feet to realize his feet were no longer _feet_. They were hooves. Animal hooves, like that of… a ram.

His breathing surely stopped as he scrambled to his chambers, desperate for his looking glass - anything - to contradict what had really occurred the previous night. He ran as fast as his legs could take him, arriving and stepping to the mirror with horror.

A beast, he thought with newborn rage.

A rage he had never felt before. He could storm, pillage, hunt. So long as he could feed the need to just _hurt something_. A deep rumbling piled up within his chest, releasing slowly as a deep growl and snarl unlike any creature he had ever heard of before. His blood was pumping too fast.

_Hurt._

_Hurt._

_Hurt. Hurt. Hurt._

Alec couldn’t recognize what he was doing. His body was taking over his mind as he lunged wall to wall, knocking over paintings and pillars. His newfound hands - paws - also came with newfound claws that could easily slice through whatever he put his mind to. He took out the tapestries, the drapes, then hesitated as his hand came to the family portrait he had knocked down.

_Those damned blue eyes…_

Consumed by rage, Alec tore through the entire room leaving no stone or piece of furniture overturned and rampaged. It was only until his bloodrage had settled when he noticed something on his balcony - a new pillar with a single red rose sitting within a glass container and a note sitting beside it, reading:

.

_For who could ever learn to love a beast?_


	2. Provincial Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus takes a walk on the town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've fallen off of the wagon for this tale. But I hope to be posting more now that I've rekindled this Beauty fire.
> 
> Songs: "Belle" and "Belle - Reprise"

On the outskirts of France, where the sun rose with grace and faded away with elegance, lived a small village with simple people. As the sun rose in the morning, as did its people. Roosters crowed the wakeful hour and the streets immediately were filled with different people sharing different stories. The children ran into the cobblestone with gleeful, innocent smiles and cries while the men and women went to work selling bread, ribbon, stock, and anything else they had to offer. At the furthest edge of the village, Magnus Bane rose slowly with a soft grin and sunshine on his face.

“ _Matin_ ,” his mother greeted him with tired eyes and a worn smile.

Magnus fell into step of his morning routine of scrubbing away any stray dirt, running a damp hand through his loose dark locks of hair, then dressing for yet another uneventful and plain day. “Morning to you as well, _maman_.”

The older woman brushed together a vase of flowers in the center table piece, taking into account of the position of every flower and losing focus of anything else. Magnus smiled.

“Do you need anything, _maman_?” He asked while slipping into his shoes and grabbing his most recent _Shakespeare_ reading.

She took a moment adjusting one last violet in the vase before looking up at her son. “Hm?”

Magnus kissed his mother’s temple before opening the front door and bracing himself to face the day ahead of him.

“I’ll make sure to pick up some bread on my way back!” He called and was out the door without haste.

The streets were bustling and stirring with life. Eyes followed Magnus wherever he went; not only for his odd looks, but for his unique tastes and interests. While his mother had golden hair with gentle brown eyes, he was forsaken with dark brooding locks and startling green eyes that, when the sun hit just right, appeared to glow golden yellow like sun bursts. And of course, that made him the outcast of the town. It didn’t stop or hinder his way of life too drastically, but it made life somewhat uncomfortable with glaring, distasteful glances.

“ _Matin_ , Magnus!” Sir Jean Avignon greeted Magnus from across the road.

His eyes immediately caught the man who made it his task to make the day a bit less unbearable. “ _Matin, Monsieur_ Jean. Any news?”

The man shifted his hat with a huff. He was particularly known just as well as Magnus was for being a little odder than most people. But at least he stood a chance of blending in with the rest of the village.

“I’ve caught ear that Madam Lillian lost her prized chicken in the middle of the night. I’m telling you: Wolves! Those beast can snatch up the smallest of critters in the night when you’re least expecting it! They’ll eventually have our heads if we aren’t too careful!”

Magnus chuckled lightly. “I’ll make sure to make note of that as I venture.”

“Where are you going?” The man asked as Magnus turned his heel.

Magnus rose his book. “To return this book to Sir Pierre. It’s about kings, ghosts and deception.”

The older gentleman scrunched his nose before being whisked away from his wife’s nagging of disrupting the youth in the village once again with his nonsense. That made Magnus’ lips turn upward with the sense of being oddly pleased that not everyone is as quaint as everyone makes it seem.

Sir Pierre’s shop was across the middle of the village, behind the flower gardens and nearly-crumbling water fountain. He was one of the few people in this town who actually gave a damn about what Magnus thought and didn’t care what others thought of him. He had heard that the man had once been in the same position Magnus found himself in with another neighboring town in France but moved due to his wife’s sudden passing.

“ _Matin_ , my friend,” Sir Pierre greeted from the top of his ladder in the midst of dusting off the top shelf of the more emptier book shelves. “Did you enjoy your newest adventure?”

 _“Oui_ ,” he stated, sliding the book back into its rightful place. “Do you have anything new?”

The man sighed. “I’m afraid not, but you are more than welcome to reread some favorites of yours.”

“Then,” Magnus drawled out as his finger circled the select few he actually enjoyed losing himself in. “I’ll be taking this one.”

Sir Pierre peered from behind the younger male and beamed. “That’s surely one of your favorites. Why don’t you keep it?”

Magnus gaped. “But Sir..”

Pierre shook his head and pushed the male out of the door. “No objections. Consider it a gift.”

“Thank you! Thank you very much!”

Magnus found himself reading and walking, falling into the rhythm of life in the village. Woodcarver and his logs on the left. Dodge. Madam’s chickens running about. Swerve. Women pining and nearly throwing themselves out. Ignore. The whispers following him were thrown to the wind as the only thing that took precedence in his mind was rereading every last word (that he already knew by heart) again and again.

.

From across the way stood a tall blond woman who knew exactly how much she was worth and got everything that she ever asked for. The moment Camille Belcourt entered a room or sanction of a town, her eyes immediately roamed to find the newest thing she could sink her teeth into - food or other wise. Beside her always stood her yes-man attendant, Raphael Santiago, an immigrant Camille found and desperately needed to take under her wing. Camille’s piercing gaze split through the crowds as if she knew Magnus was circling the town square. She licked her lips.

“Look at him. Magnus Bane. A true gentleman.”

Raphael cleared his throat.

“But of course not more of a gentleman than you are, Raphael.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes, not knowing whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

“One day, I swear it, Magnus Bane will be mine. Even if it is the last thing I do.”

 _Then I hope it ends poorly_ , he wished to say.

.

Magnus’ gaze had just finished reading the last part of the chapter when a shadow fell across the page in the shape of the last person he wanted to see.

“What is that God awful thing you have in your hands,” her voice came as pleasantly as the rotten cheese Monsieur Giovanni had tossed out weeks ago.

He peered up at Camille with a dark smirk. “It’s called a book. You should read one sometime.”

Camille scoffed. Magnus could have sworn he saw Raphael crack somewhat of a smile from behind his lady before realizing and hiding it. “Do you think so little of me?”

“Less.”

Camille forcefully closed the book in his hand and tossed it out of the way, sending the great work scraping into the fountain, only to plop herself into his lap. Magnus jerked to fetch it from the water when Camille’s gloved hand pulled his chin inches away from her gaze.

“Have you considered my proposal?” She purred.

His gaze darkened. “I’d rather sleep with anyone else than you, _la chienne,_ ” he declared, throwing her out of his lap and fetching the now soaked and poorly-looking book from the dirt ridden waters. The woman scoffed, throwing slanders and gestures in his directions as he tended to his gift and made his way back home, making sure to grab his _maman_ her bread for supper.

.

Magnus shut the door to his small home with an extra nudge to make sure the wood actually stuck to place, sending dirt falling from above. The next chance. The very next chance he got to leave this provincial town, he was going to pack up everything and go wherever it took to get him and his mother somewhere safe and somewhere to start fresh.

He set the loaf of bread on the table with a groan, “Camille cornered me yet again in the square with her talk about marriage and _image_. Can you believe it? Me? And _her_ …”

His words were lost to the wind as the bedroom door creaked open to reveal his mother dressed to endure.

“Where are you going, _maman_?” He asked.

His mother finished tying the ends of her scarf before meeting eyes with her son. She gave her gentle smile, the same smile that told the same _I’m sorry_ story. Her wary hands cupped his face and he couldn’t help but turn to the touch. “Maman.”

“No worry, _ma fleur_ ,” she soothed. “I need to run into town for some of my medicine.”

Magnus covered her hands with his owns and brought them down to carefully press his lips to them. “ _Maman_ , let me go. You shouldn’t travel throughout the night.”

“I promise to be swift.” She pulled away her hands almost on quickly. The warmth of her touch left Magnus too cold too quickly.

He could only kiss her on her forehead and bid her good luck and swiftness.

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“You, home quickly and safe,” he sighed, holding the door open for her.

She kissed him one last time before bringing Ryder out of the stables and climbing onto his back. The steed whined, since the last time he was ridden was several weeks ago when the gate was left open.

“Be swift and steady,” Magnus called out, but his mother was already out of ear.


	3. A Nightly Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn Bane ventures out for her medicine to find an odd, and possibly dangerous detour into the darker wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW UPDATE  
> I'm hoping to post Mon&Thur. We'll see if that works out well.
> 
> Some warnings:  
> Slight animal violence

The neighboring town of Revinelle was a good twelve hours by swift horse with an educated, persistent rider. Evelyn Bane did not fit into this category. Ryder had very little outing time and got tired far too quickly. She also relied on the wooden posts to keep her on the right path which, only under direct lighting, could be seen clearly. However with the passing overcast of clouds and a possibly rainstorm brewing, it made it ten times harder to get only a few miles down the road.

“Come, Ryder,” she called, begging the steed to push just a little bit more to get somewhat ahead of the clouds.

The forest surrounded her on either side, not being much of help either. If anything they obstructed her view of any signs and made it more likely that she was only trotting in circles on end. As the light of the day faded away both behind mountains and clouds, Evelyn was left with darkness and the smell of rain. Ryder whined and started to drag along in a thicker part of the wood where the end of the path was hard to differentiate between trees and bushes. 

The sky lit up and rumbled with thunder and lightning, which then led to rain. Evelyn had not been that prepared and was drenched within moments of the oncoming storm. Ryder heaved more and more with the increasing bellows of the thunder.

“Calm down, Ryder. It is only water.”

Evelyn had a way of tempting fate. It happened first when she tempted her husband into leaving her and her unborn child for good. And now, she tempted Mother Nature - who was just as displeased. The rain came down harder than ever before, shlucking up any mud it could and sending lightning bolts straight into the ground.

Ryder buckled and came to a halt just as a bolt of lightning struck the nearest tree and sent it falling several inches in front of their path, revealing a more sinister, yet protected path into the deeper wood.

“Come,” Evelyn commanded and led her and her steed into the deeper wood where the trees protected at least majority of the rain but not all. “There, there.”

The deeper the two got, the more the woods began to turn and twist into taunting figures and haunting forms. The woman braced herself, as she always did in rough times, only to not be able to make eye contact with any of the darker forms shifting in the dark. She began humming a song, the same song that she sang to Magnus when he was a child and would make him smile brighter than the sun. It got him through the darkest of times, and in times of need, it helped Evelyn as well.

However, the dark part of the wood came with dark creatures of the wood. The worst of beasts that feasted on anything that happened to stray into its path and become the newest set of prey. Beady eyes glowed from the bushes, shifting in and out of the brush as the true hunters of the forest, snarling, waiting, wanting.

Ryder buckled and shifted from Evelyn’s grasp. “Whoa!”

Evelyn tried to regain control of her steed as the brush began snapping and the snarling came even louder and thicker than the thunder had been. It came first with one wolf presenting itself proudly like it was claiming its food. Evelyn slipped her hand tighter around Ryder’s reins.

“GO!” She shouted and yanked hard on Ryder’s reins sending him shooting into the dark.

The wolf immediately shot out like the nightly creature it was. Evelyn started to think she wasn’t going to get out of there alive. One wolf turned into three which then turned into six of all different sizes, each purposefully circling and snarling to send Ryder into a more panicked frenzy.

There was only a split moment of silence before they pounced.

Biting.

Swinging with any branches nearby.

Stomping.

Growling.

Evelyn clutched at her arm and side where she was lucky to have gotten a deep cut rather than a organ ripped from her body. Ryder made off however he could, taking his rider into whichever direction he saw was safest - towards a broken gate and an open meadow-area. Evelyn heaved as they gained distance between them and the wolves. She let out a shaky breath of relief and turned to face another possible danger.

In front of her eyes was an enormous castle that looked abandoned if it weren't for the single candle burning in a higher room. A large tower stood taller than anything else in the building. Snow began falling despite the rain storm from before. Everything about this place screamed danger. But she would rather take a chance within the threatening building than out in the cold with the wolves.

Evelyn slowly slid herself off of Ryder as he posed himself near the front steps of the castle doors. She hissed at the pulling on her open wounds, pulling her hand back to find it stained red with blood. She managed to haul herself up the far-too-many steps and push open the front doors with a heave. 

“Hello?” She called out into the unknown. “Hello? Is there anyone there?”

The woman looked around slowly, surveying the darkness skeptically. In the furthest corner of the downstairs room was a roaring fireplace which beckoned to her. _Warmth. Warmth is good._

Evelyn situated herself in front of the fire before pulling up her dressing and inspecting the gash on her side. It wasn’t as deep as it felt, but it was deep enough to be consistently bleeding and stay open for any infections.

She let out a huff just as something clanged from behind.

“Hello?” She called again. “Is someone there? I’ve been attacked.. By wolves. If you don’t mind… I’ll only stay a short while before heading off…”

Silence greeted her. She took a stand off of the couch and looked into the darkness. There was only a candlestick lighting the stairway and a clock filling the silence from the table in the other side room. Another clatter led her eyes into a darker part of the room before there was a clang directly behind her.

She nearly let a swear come from her lips as she slipped back onto the couch to find bandaging material in front of the fireplace on the rug. Bandaging wraps. Disinfectant. Gauze.

“Thank you,” she exhaled and worked on cleaning herself up and fixing for the ride out.

She was in the midst of getting to her feet when the shuffling riled up from behind her again. “Hello?”

A growl emitted from the darkness, sending shudders shooting down her spine. The fireplace suddenly sputtered to smoke and dust leaving only the candlestick to enlighten a whole downstairs.

“Who’s there?” She called.

“Uh oh,” came a hushed voice.

“Don’t speak,” came another.

“WHO DARES TRESPASS?” A growl shook the entire grounds.

Evelyn could have sworn her bones were shaking as she tried moving towards the door before another growl sent her to a sudden stop. The air was colder than the snow building outside and a darkness never felt before settled into her gut. She could only sputter out a few words quickly.

“I… I don't mean to intrude…”

“No one is allowed on the grounds. NO ONE.”

She bit back a whimper before the light of the candlestick was consumed by the shadow growing behind her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up on end, and before she could help it, she was turning to face the man behind the growls.

Her eyes came to a halt at the sight - no, beast - in front of her.

She screamed, but no matter how loud she did, no one would hear.


	4. Damsels and Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisies, Damsels and Distress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early/Extra Update!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Caution: mild swearing

Magnus woke in a cold sweat. 

He heaved for his breath, trying to pull himself back into reality away from the nightmare that haunting his dreams. It was the same nightmare that has woken him countless times before and left him feeling hollow and cold. His father was there, and yet he wasn’t at the same time. There was a figure of a man, or what he thought to be a man, and he was always just out of reach. No matter how far Magnus tried to stretch out to him there was always one more inch between them and then he was being swallowed by darkness.

He pulled himself out of bed and ran a shaky hand through his hair before slipping into some reasonable clothes. The day felt off, he thought. The air was too sickly and suffocating against his body. He couldn’t help get the overwhelming feeling of dread.

That didn’t stop him from going out into the town.

Magnus wasn’t on top of his usually punctual schedule, though the people around him still operated as though it was much earlier in the day. The children were out playing and stomping in the farmer’s puddles. A chicken had perched itself on the banister by the door. The baker down the street was shouting his sales for the day.

Normal, he thought. Just another normal day.

He stepped out onto the street and made his usual rounds. Greet Jean Avignon. Check. Buy some meat and bread. Check. Greet Sir Pierre. Check. It was like breathing - repetitive. Necessary, his mother would say. Safe.

There was something missing in Magnus’s life. There was no spark, no need or adventure towards something _else._ A hole.

“Are you all right, _sir?_ ” a young child asked him.

Magnus blinked. He hadn’t realized he had stopped in the middle of the street. Everything had become white noise and its people had taken keen notice at the affair. He crouched down towards the young girl.

“Quite.” He smiled. There was a string of flowers woven into the girl’s hair, a mix of daisies and violets that grew just beyond the walls of Sir Pierre’s shop. “I like your flowers.”

The girl’s face lit up. “I can make you one too.”

Magnus didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was on a schedule - a very busy, very boring schedule. “I’d love one.”

She wasted no time. She grasped his hand, or at least three of his fingers, and started leading the way past the bakery, and towards the center of the village. There was a pile of flowers sitting on the fountain’s edge and a semi-completed ring of flowers abandoned, probably when she had seen him in distress.

“Sit,” she said as she pushed the man on the other side of her pile and handed him an excessive amount of flowers.

They sat there for hours. Magnus just wasn’t tying the flowers good enough for the girl’s approval. She kept shaking her head and saying no, that’s not right. Then she would take it from his hands and do the steps, _the right way,_ and hand it back to him. He really didn’t mind. He was lost in the way she kept rambling on about her day and her family and how pretty the flowers were - _and how he kept weaving them wrong._

From afar, one would think the two were inseparable friends or family members with the way they interacted and simply laughed. Magnus found himself enjoying the derailment from his schedule, and even more so, the girl’s company.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The girl never looked up from her flowers. “Madzie.”

“Madzie,” he repeated. “A beautiful name.”

She shrugged, not entirely sure. It was, though. Exotic and new. “I’m Magnus.”

She nodded, tying the last piece of her ring before holding it up for the man to see. It truly was beautiful, even with some pieces hanging limply from the sides. Magnus tied off two more flowers then held his up.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Madzie pursed her lips as though thinking really hard. Her eyes darted from the flowers to his wild hair, unable to see how it would truly look. Her small hands grabbed ahold of the crown and carefully slipped it into his hair, pulling some strands loose so it would be sturdier to carry around. When finished, she sat back, squinted some more and nodded with confidence.

“Perfect.”

Magnus laughed, feeling lighter than he had ever been before - which all came crashing down the moment he felt the prickling sensation of being watched, followed by a shadow.

“What is that _horrendous_ thing?”

Camille had a second sense that involved anything about Magnus. He had silently hoped he would be given one day away from her, hell, even a few hours without her ruining a moment. He dragged his eyes up to hers.

“They’re flower rings.”

The woman scoffed. “Yes, I know what _that_ is. What is that _thing_ beside you?”

Magnus looked beside him, the only thing there being Madzie who was far too interested in her flowers and fingers. “You mean _the child?_ ”

“Ghastly little things aren’t they...” She whipped out her fan and used it almost violently, like blowing away the wind would make the child disappear. “I was looking for you earlier. You weren’t where you usually are, so I figured you’d be here.”

Raphael seemed uncomfortable by her side, eyes shifting from her to the floor to Magnus and back to her. He cleared his throat. “ _Ma dame._ We should get to your _appointment_ with a Sir Jonathan Sharpe…”

  
Camille hissed. “I am aware of _the appointment._ ”

“We should be on our way as well,” Magnus declared, standing and taking hold of Madzie’s hand. “I’m afraid my friend here needs some fresh air. Good day.” 

The woman’s nose crinkled, stepping away with scorn and a smack to Raphael’s side, hissing something into his ear about names and disclosure.

Magnus didn’t care. He took Madzie anywhere else but there, probably walking in circles about the small town but at least then Camille would certainly get tired somewhere along the way.

“I hate her,” they both said at the same time and they both shared a laugh.

“She stepped on my flowers yesterday and the day before that..” the little girl sighed, tightening her hold on the man every so slightly. Enough so that the man reciprocated the action in reassurance.

The two walked together until the late first hour chimed on the clock, the sinking feeling in Magnus’ gut returning. She should be returning soon, he thought. He planned on having dinner ready for her when she arrived. A day’s worth of traveling normally took a large toll on her and when she got back she demanded Magnus touch nothing in preparation for supper. That was her job, she said.

Magnus walked the small Madzie back to her house, which was close to his own house. She seemed hesitant to let go of his hand, but he crouched low and took her hands into his own.

“It has been a pleasure, _ma dame._ ”  He leaned down and kissed the tops of her hands. “Would you do me the honor of spending time with me tomorrow? You can teach me how to make more of your beautiful crowns.”

She nodded happily. “ _Oui._ Thank you, _monsieur._ ” The girl tipped upwards slightly and gave the man a peck on the cheek before running up the path towards the small cottage that was home, laughter trailing behind her.

 _She’s a good kid,_ he thought. He waited for her to enter the house and close the door behind her before leaving for his own home. Madzie reminded him that it really was possible. There was so much hope in her eyes, it nearly stunned the man. He kept the girl on his mind the whole walk home, smiling and thinking of when he could be as free.

.

He was pacing. 

The sun had already set. The supper he had prepared had gone cold hours ago and was now sloppily put away in a manner _maman_ would surely reprimand him for. Every smallest inch of movement from the door being blown open made Magnus turn anxiously - each false alarm making his mind turn faster.

He ran his hand through his cleaned hair - an attempt of looking nice for her. But it had gone down the drain she hadn’t shown up at the marker they had always set in case of emergencies. He was to the point of nearly ripping out his own hair when he heard it - the sound of a stampeding horse coming closer and it's familiar whining cries. Magnus’ eyes widen in fear.

“ _Maman._ ”

Magnus shot out from the house. _Please be safe. Please be unharmed… and safe._  

Ryder was outside, shaken and wet. And alone.

Hundred of thousands of thoughts rushed through his mind at that moment. Images of her dead in the woods; or her out there lost and alone. His heart both hammered and dropped at the wild thoughts he could help but thinking. Magnus managed to grab ahold of Ryder and calm him down.

“Ryder, where is _maman?_ ” The steed whined in response, bucking slightly.

In all time of his life, Magnus wished the horse could speak. He swallowed his fears and nodded as a reassurance to himself more than anything before climbing onto the back of the horse. There was no time to waste waiting around for her to show up on her own accord with her surprising lack of direction.

“I hope you remember the way,” he pleaded and stroked his friend. “ _Let’s go.”_

Ryder whined in his own objection to the man’s foolishness before huffing and trotting slowly out of town and then sprinting off towards the damsel in distress.

 

Turns out horses do have quite the memory. Ryder had managed to get Magnus to where his mother was last scented, even though he had nearly bucked the man off half way through the darker parts of the wood at the sound of the wolves. Magnus would have never found the entrance, leaving his mother alone to the elements. He thanked his lucky stars for Ryder.

At the sight of the castle, Ryder immediately started jerking and bucking. _Danger._

“Whoa!” Magnus called to stall the horse. “Stay, boy. I’ll be right back.”

 _I wonder if a horse could tell when someone is lying,_ he thought. 

The castle standing before him was daunting in the glory of its current state. Parts of the building were missing, exposing its antiqued living arrangements. Ivy had grown over the majority of the lower floors which was then covered by rubble and then snow.

 _Odd for it being the middle of June,_ he thought as he took the steps one at a time.

.

From within, two men started talking.

“Someone is here,” stated one.

The other smacked the first. “Shut up, Simon. You almost blew it last time.”

The door to the castle creaked open, silencing the two males instantly.

“Hello?” came a male voice, followed by his form entering the foyer.

Magnus was put off by how well-kept the rooms seemed to be for an abandoned work of architecture. It was a shame, really. It was undeniable that someone had spent a lot of time and determination into such a large, beautiful place. Perhaps such beauty came with a price. The man looked around the main foyer, only finding a dim lit candlestick, some loose furniture, a brighter fireplace and a small clock sitting on the nearby mantle.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” He called. “I’m looking for my mother.”

“Maybe he’s the one,” Simon whispered to his friend.

Jace batted him again. “I said _shut up.”_

Magnus spun at the sound of hushed voices. “Hello? I know someone’s there! Come out!”

Simon was halfway opening his mouth as cries came from upstairs in the east tower. _His mother._

“ _Maman!_ ” He cried out, grabbing ahold of the candlestick to lead the way into the darkness. “ _Maman!”_

The candlestick did good enough of a job to lead him toward where he heard his mother’s cries and pleas emit from. He climbed his way up the tallest tower and through various passages until the whimpers and pleas were closer. The tower, if he were to guess, was at least a hundred feet above everything else that was the castle - taller and isolated from everything else. _Maman. Maman. Maman._ He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when the light illuminated her pale saggy silhouette behind the door of a cell.

Magnus dropped to his knees beside her. “ _Maman._ It’s me, Magnus.” His hands grasped at her cold frail hands and her eyes flew upwards.

“ _Maman,”_ he exhaled in relief. _Safe._

No. Not quite. His mother was paler than she normally was. Her eyes were purple, sunken and she refused to move her right arm away from her side. Magnus’ raked over her form over and over.

_She’s still alive._

_She’s still alive._

_Dieu. Barely._

She coughed, hiding herself behind her good hand. But his eyes went immediately to the red blooming across her palms, the color all the more radiant in the darkness and moonlight.

His stomach tightened. “Mother, you’re..”

She cut him off. “You need to leave... _Now._ There is something _else_ that lives within these walls.”

Magnus shook his head. “ _You need to go._ ”

He wasn’t going to take that as an answer. The door of the cell looked worn enough to break - maybe. Magnus was always hopefully optimistic in dwelling situations. The man looked around for anything - _something_ to use as leverage against the door. But there were only leaves, rubble and the candlestick in his hand. A shame, really, but if it helped his chances than a piece of metal could easily be replaced. 

Magnus poised the piece above one of the joints of the door and stuck hard. Nothing. He did so again and again, the clang of metal against metal echoing loud in the dark. His mother jerked at the sound and held out a hand.

“Stop,” she hissed, grabbing ahold of his wrist. “ _You need to go._ ”

Magnus panted. “ _Maman,_ I’m not leaving without you.”

“THEN YOU’RE NOT LEAVING AT ALL,” came a thunderous voice.

It echoed and bounced from the walls, shaking in his chest. Magnus couldn’t help but notice his mother’s cower and held the candlestick out against the shadows as a last defense. If the voice, presumably a man from the baritone of it, came any closer than he liked then he would launch the candlestick onto him, he decided. Perhaps a fire would break out and he could use it as a distraction.

“Who’s there?” He called out only to be met with a low, primal growl. Out there, he could somewhat see, something moving - large, and dangerous. “Face me! Only cowards hide from the dark!”

His heart thundered in his ears and fingers like a stampede of wild boars. It was the only thing he could feel against the bite of the cold. The bravado he mustered was something he was told he got from his father. He didn’t see it.

“If there is one thing you should know about me: I am never a coward,” the male voice came closer now and Magnus could see his shadowed figure a few feet ahead of him. He threw caution to the wind and stepped forward, swinging the light out to reveal exactly what kind of man he had to face.

“ _Dieu,_ ” he swore.

The man was no man.

He had the bearings of a man, the same large building and sharp features surrounding him. A thick mane swarmed his face with lock, thick dark locks - darker than Magnus’. The darkness looming from behind did little to hide the two horns strutting from out of his hairline - each looking like that of a ram, though one of the horns significantly shorter than the other as if it has been cut or trimmed off violently. An equally terrifying pair of canines jutted out of his mouth with every snarl thrown in his direction, large enough teeth to rip out his throat at any moment. His hands and feet were nothing less than that of large paws like a lion, claws and all, and hooves equal to a bull’s. And when Magnus thought that was all to take in from the man, he caught a glance at a tail whipping and curling about in the shadows. The man’s threatening growl brought his eyes back up to a pair of dangerously dark ones. 

_Terrifyingly fascinating._

“Please. Let my mother go. She has done nothing wrong.”

The man snarled. “ _Nothing wrong?_ She has trespassed on my land. That is certainly enough wrong.”

Magnus’ heart skipped as he thought out his words carefully. “Then let me take her place. She is ill and will not last more than a few days without proper treatment.”

The beastly man seemed to contemplate his words.

“ _No,”_ His mother spoke out in protest. “It is a life sentence.. You must go, _ma fleur._ I can pay the price of my own deeds.”

A life sentence. “ _Damn that!”_ He shot at her, then stared the man dead in the eye. “Take me.”

The man emitted something between a snarl and a growl. “You would give up your life… Everything… For her?”

“She is my mother. I’d do anything for her.” A sharp silence settled between them before he wrenched the cell door open and Magnus flew towards his mother, gripping the woman for the last time.

“ _Silly, silly boy. What have you done?”_ She cried into his shoulder. Magnus shook his head. Safety, he thought. I’m giving you safety. 

“It’s time to leave,” the man growled, impatient.

Magnus shot him a stare equivalent to daggers. “You can’t spare us one last moment?”

He was silent after that and Magnus filled it with murmuring soothing comforts and empty promises into his mother's ears before she was violently ripped from his arms. _I’ll try and get out of here as soon as possible_ , he had meant to say to her. 

Too late. He was always too late. 

“ _Magnus!”_ She cried.

Magnus cried out to his mother before being thrown back into the same cell his mother had endured. He watched her be hauled like a rag doll down and out of sight. His cries rang out long after his mother had been removed - forever, it felt like he was screaming forever. And he kept doing so, until his voice became the first thing to lose strength before he fell asleep to bitter darkness.


	5. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus meets some of the other houseguests and their positions in the castle while also planning his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat late update, but it's here!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings:  
> mentions of dying  
> minor swearing

A whole day had passed without any contact from either the Beast or anyone else for that matter. It was just him alone with his thoughts. His mind wondered about if his mother had made it back to safety by now or if she had been attacked yet again by those wolves. Or maybe someone came along and robbed her. She could be lying dead somewhere and Magnus was helpless.

There was one way - a dangerous, stupid way - out. On the other side of the cell was a large gaping hole in the wall that faced a plummeting ravine into despair, both a means of escape and inevitable death. His body was reaching the twenty-four hour mark of being exposed to the snow-freezing temperatures with his limp, totally not heavy-snow protective, clothes. He should have grabbed a coat, he thought. He should have grabbed anything else; clothes, a weapon.

His breath escaped his body painfully, but at least there was breath leaving his body at all. Painfully living was better than not living at all. There could have been thousands of different ways this could have gone for the worse and laying in the cold was on the lower end of the spectrum in his mind. He could be dead already. He curled up as tight as possible, shivering in the furtherest the part from the hole trying to keep any warmth left in him from escaping. He didn’t really know how long he had really been in there; it may have felt like a day when it could have been only a couple of hours. The passing of time was lost to the man - one hour blending into the next.

“ _Dieu_ , he’s turning blue,” came a voice from beyond the cell and Magnus’ had enough strength to slightly acknowledge the sound with a flutter of his eyes.

“Nonsense. That’s more of a pale pinkish, purple color.”

“It’s still sickly, Jace.”

Magnus knew there were voices coming from outside of his cell. And voices usually came from people. Real people. There were real people trying to help him, he realized. He tried using his voice, only barely rasping out: “Who’s there?” His voice came out raw. Weak.

The cell door creaked open suddenly. Magnus having no control over whether or not he would be hit by it or not, being so close to the thing. Maybe being hit with it would put him out of his misery. It would certainly speed things along in that direction. The mumbling and rambling of voices grew closer, fading out ever so often with silence and shushing.

_It’s a trick. I’m hallucinating._

He managed to get himself into a slanted position against the wall, feeling of shooting pain up his legs. He blinked and tried focusing on something else. Magnus’ eyes caught sight of light coming from the hall and, of all things, moved away from it. “Hello?”

Shadows splayed across the walls, growing larger and closer with each step. They didn’t resemble the shape of a person, no. It was something he couldn’t make out. The fields of his vision ever so slightly blurred. The shadows keep moving until they stopped short of the door.

“Hello!” The same voice as before. Perhaps he wasn’t hallucinating. He straightened a little, craning himself around the edge of the door looking for his rescuer.

His eyes stopped short at the sight of the candlestick he had been wielding before - with a full face. Eyes. Nose. Mouth. It was all there. On a candlestick. And he absurdly held a thick wool blanket in his hands - no, his candlestick holders.

Magnus panted, slipping a swear under his breath. “ _Dieu.” This is a dream. Hypothermia. It’s the hypothermia. Confusion. Memory loss. Death._

“Sorry, _Monsieur._ But this is not a dream,” came another voice.

Magnus opened his eyes. He didn’t know he had shut them. And now he wished he had kept them closed. Beside the candlestick was the mantle cock from downstairs, he too with a full face.

“My name’s Jace. And my poorly-lit friend here is Simon.”

“Hello!” Simon said again.

Jace smacked him. “Idiot.”

“I… I don’t.. understand,” Magnus eventually spit out. “You’re.. Real?”

“Unfortunately,” Jace responded as the candlestick grew closer. Magnus couldn’t help but to at least try and scoot away from the man in fear of harm. Which _Simon_ took note of immediately.

“This is for you,” Simon offered, holding the blanket out for the nearly frozen man. He certainly needed it. Magnus didn’t need reminding that he most certainly looked even worse than he felt, given the feeling hadn’t exactly returned to his fingers or toes yet.

Magnus looked at the thing warily. “Are you sure?”

The candlestick nodded. “Of course.”

“Take it or we’ll leave you without it,” the clock bit out. Magnus hesitated even further, finally closing the space between them and snatching the blanket and wrapping around his frame. It was thicker than everything he had on, even if he were to stack each item on top of each other. And someone had taken the time to warm the material.

Probably the nicer one - _Simon_ , he thought.

Magnus watched the two expectantly, eyebrow squinting when the objects didn’t move from their positions by the opened door. “Are you not going to leave?”

“Why would we do that?” the clock scoffed.

_Well, you just threatened to leave me here to die so there’s that…_ “I’m a prisoner here,” he said instead.

The candlestick shrugged, waving his candles around enthusiastically. “You see… the master can be a little temperamental at times..”

The clock scoffed. “ _A little…_ ”

“As I was _saying_.” He glared at his friend. “We were sent to give you proper accommodations.”

Proper accommodations, they claim. Magnus had the faintest idea that they were simply going to lead him into his grave much earlier than expected. Maybe push him off the ledge. Or down the enormous set of stairs - painful, but it would do the trick.

“ _Monsieur?_ ”

Magnus was brought from his thoughts. He couldn’t afford to be thinking like that. There was a bigger reason to surviving. _Maman._ He paused, weighing his options before summoning everything left to get him upright. He leg nearly buckled beneath him, both of the object lunging, but he managed to get himself into a limped, upright position which was going to have to do for the current circumstances.

He heaved, out of breath already. “Lead the way.”

“Our pleasure,” Simon called and ventured out ahead to illuminate the path with Jace shortly behind him.

The two were patient with the man. He slowly hobbled down the hallways and struggled to make it down the stairs again, taking breaks every ten steps or so. He had regain some control over his mobility by the time they reached the main stairwell. Magnus followed the two down the painfully tight corridor of stairs and through a seemingly dozen hallways.

Jace interrupted his thoughts. “Here it is.”

Simon pushed the door forward to reveal a far too glamorous room for a prisoner like him. Magnus’ mouth dropped at the sight. _Maman would have enjoyed this room._

One massive golden chandelier hung above the equally massive bed and frame. Everything within the room had its golden hue, and he would bet it was real. The bed itself probably worth four of his houses. He noted the pristine condition of the detail work in every carving and decor. Each object in the room had its own sense of elegance and place. Luxury. One room full of the finest pleasures one could only ever dream of and his village on the brink of _starvation and poverty…_ He scowled.

“Is it not to your liking?” Simon asked. “I’m sure we could find another room.. Somewhere.”

Magnus waved his numb hand, holding on tight to the blanket. “No need. It’ll do.”

“Perfect!”

Jace rolled his eyes and went further into the room as Magnus followed suit. Simon shot past and leapt onto the stiffly made bed, sending a large cloud of dust wafting into the air.

He coughed. “Pardon, me. It’s been awhile since we’ve had guests.”

Magnus nodded. Of course it has been a while. By the look of things, it looks like no one has occupied the castle for a decade. He clenched the material tighter, earning the attention of the objects beneath him.

“Ah, yes… we shall leave you to get some rest.” Simon lept from the bed. “You certainly need it.”

Magnus didn’t know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. He thanked them nonetheless. The two were making their way out the door when Simon paused, turning towards the man one last time.

“I almost forgot,” he said suddenly, holding the door open. “Bathroom is the door on the right. Sewing and dressing room through the double doors.”

“Simon, _let’s go._ ” the clock grabbed ahold of the candlestick and pulled him out the door, closing the door with him.

Magnus threw himself onto the bed, unable to process all of the information from a few hours of the day: talking objects. Real talking objects with far too realistic facial expressions and emotion for robotics. He rubbed his face with the wool blanket and climbed beneath the old sheets. The idea of dust not a problem the second his head hit the pillow and he was out for the count.

.

Magnus didn’t know how long he had been asleep. He awoke to the sun still enlightening the bedroom, although it was probably mid-afternoon by now. That wasn’t what startled him. It was the large moving wardrobe placing clothes on the end of the bed.

“ _Shit,”_ Magnus swore and the wardrobe swore at the same time, both lunging away from each other and away from sight.

_It’s real._

_Everything from before. It’s real._

He desperately rubbed at his eyes, hoping it would disappear. He would be alone in the room. He would be alone in the whole castle. No talking candlesticks. No talking clocks or moving wardrobes. Nothing.

“What happened?” came two voices.

_No._

Magnus opened his eyes to find the same clock and candlestick from before looking all the same - and even more so frightened at the screams. He hit his forehead. They were still there. He fell back onto the bed and the two objects started rushing with questions.

“What’s wrong?”

Magnus wove off the candlestick. “Nothing… I’m losing my mind.”

Simon huffed, blowing out one of his candles accidentally and then relighting it. “I can assure you, you are not. You’re handling this quite well, actually.”

“Is there anyone else… like you?” Magnus suddenly asked, sitting upright. “Or should I assume everything in this place is a person?”

“Maybe he has lost it,” Jace noted, making Magnus’ face flush with warmth. He watched as the clock approached the large, hiding wardrobe with ease, giving the piece of furniture a dashing smile.

“ _Madame Clarissa,_ ” he murmured to the furniture. “You’ve given our guest a fright.”

“ _A guest?!”_ Came a shrill voice, her eyes - or the drawers which could be assumed to be her eyes - came scanning over the man’s form. “He scared me first.”

Magnus scoffed. “Did not!”

“Did too!”

“ _Monsieur,”_ Simon cut in. “This is _Madame Clary_. She can help with your… Clothing arrangements.”

Magnus nodded in recognition, slowly taking ease to yet another object coming to life. Even if she did scare him first. The thought of getting accustomed to something like this was going to be a difficult one. Although, he suddenly remembered a time when Madame Catarina had walked into the square with a live chicken’s nest in her hair, and chickens, without the faintest clue or worry. Nothing could really top that.

“Of course. Always to be of service,” she said with what could be deemed as a partial smile with how the tops of her drawers turned upwards.

The clock winked at the wardrobe before facing the man with a straight face. “Now, please remember: bathroom on the right, dressing room left. I highly recommend the bathroom first..” he trailed off while gathering and pushing the candlestick out of the room. “We will send word when food is ready. _Adieu.”_

The door clicked shut and Magnus was left alone with the wardrobe - Clary.

“So,” Clary started, Magnus sensing the smallest amount of hesitation in the air between them. “You do realize you’re the one who started it?”

.

Magnus entertained the lonely wardrobe after taking a much needed bath. The clock was right - he was filthy. He had emptied the tub three times before being able to soak in clear waters. Now he was playing dress up with all of the clothes and outfits that managed to fit inside of the seemingly small space. As much as he would rather be spending his time working on an escape plan, as soon as he put on the thick embroidered jacket he was a goner. The warmth spread throughout his body and awakened some joints that he thought he had lost to the cold.

He had to cut the play time short, however, needing to get to business before anyone else came to interrupt or learn of his plans. “Does the window open?” he asked.

Clary nodded. “Of course. I would not recommend, however. The draft is stronger the higher we go.”

He nodded. Of course. But as of now, that was the only option he had. Magnus took time gathering the material lying about on the ground when they had been looking for the right fit and make for his body. It was a pile of shear fabric, wool, and other linens - not really good, but it would work. He even pulled out one of the thinner sheets on the bed and tore it into manageable strips to use. However, he couldn’t really hide the fact of his escape from Clary as soon as she looked up from sorting the clothes in her drawers.

She just kept staring at him with an almost sad expression.

Magnus almost felt guilty. “I can’t stay here.”

The wardrobe hummed, the sound filling the awkward silence between them and Magnus felt the urge to try and fill it. He just started spilling the words out of his mouth the second he thought of them.

“My mother… She’s sick. And hurt.” Clary was silent. “No one else will take care of her.”

He kept ripping more and more fabric, each tear angrier than the next. Her voice broke through the blood boiling in his veins. “Your mother… is she kind?”

His fingers stilled. An odd chill rushed through him. What kind of a question is that? “Of course she is.”

  
He found himself lost in the thoughts and memories of her. “She’s kind and selfless. She’s strong too... She’s the one who brought us here when I was small. Alone. She got a job, a house… She’s everything to me and _so much more..._ ” He trailed off.

Magnus looked up to find the wardrobe busy as though looking and digging through the endless doors, drawers and hangers hidden within. He took that as a sign of dismissal, shutting up quickly and going back to braiding, tying and ripping various fabrics. Of course she must not really want to hear about stories of his mother - a means of getting him to expose himself to these people, perhaps. To gain leverage. To keep him here longer.

“ _Monsieur,_ ” Clary hesitated, letting out a deep breath before straightening back up. Magnus looked up. She didn’t say anything as she tossed him thicker, more durable pieces of fabric. Some of which had moth holes in them, but it was better than the latter. The man bit back the sting of tears as he held the material close to heart.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

The wardrobe nodded and the two got to work together. Magnus pulling a pair of fabric pieces together and Clary giving pointers of which ones were the strongest. There was no need for conversation. But Clary tried to fill the void anyways, her mouth opening and stilling suddenly.

Magnus tensed too, the sound of his door opening and wheels creaking. They had about twenty feet worth of rope sitting between the both of them. Twenty feet of totally conspicuous rope. Clary immediately stood straight as though she could disappear, doors and drawers closing.

“ _Clary,”_ he hissed, but the wardrobe made her way across the other side of the room. “One moment!” He kicked their work into the corner under the bed to hopefully be out of sight and out of mind, standing as stiff as a board as the door opened fully and a cart rolled in with a teapot and teacup joining it.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I can come back another time,” the teapot exclaimed by the door.

“It’s fine,” Magnus exhaled. He tried moving his body in a way that would block the bed frame if need be. Having someone find out about his plans of escape, who may or may not be sound with the idea, would send his stomach rolling. The look of disappointment… The cart came rolling closer to the man and his potential escape route.

“I figured that a warm cup of tea could help you,” she claimed. “I have green, jasmine, chamomile.. Anything you’d like really.”

“I don’t really…” Magnus stumbled over his words. She was going to get too close.

“But you’ve been through so much…” She rolled too close. Her eyes drifted behind him and onto the floor, and with it, his hope. She would turn him in. He’d end up back in that tower and _die… “_ Oh, dear. At least have something warm before you leave.”

Magnus’ heart skipped. “Thank you.”

The teapot nodded, pouring a short cup of tea into the cup and then offering it to the man. He slightly hesitated, then accepted the drink. Its warmth immediately seeping into his pores. He loosed a breath. “Really… Thank you.”

He lifted the cup up to his lips, taking a soft sip before the cup started giggling in his hands. Magnus stilled to the bone. The thing had moved in his fingers and _giggled_. The man brought the cup away to look at it.

“Hello, sir. Nice to meet you,” the cup greeted with a smile. Magnus slightly blanched. He had just used a child as means of drinking tea. He no longer had the taste for anything, setting the cup down next to the matching pot.

“Max, where are your manners?” The pot called.

The teacup shook slightly, then straightened. “Apologies, sir. My name’s Maxwell. Call me Max.”

“Max,” the teapot called. She too straightened her stout a little taller. “I’m Lydia. It’s pleased to meet you, _Monsieur_.”

“Magnus,” he said. “Please, call me Magnus.”

“It’s a pleasure, Magnus.” The pot, now known to him as Lydia, was also beautiful like all of the other magical, and non-magical, objects in the castle. Her facial features portrayed on the fine porcelain with grace and precision, the smallest hints of rose as blush on her cheeks and under her eyes. Elegant, he also noted. But delicate.

“Would you like to see a trick?” Max chirped suddenly, scrunching up his porcelain face and somehow erupting scores of bubbles within the hot tea. Magnus couldn’t help but to chuckle.

Lydia didn’t like it as much. Gasping in horror that the hot tea was now running over his fingers, with little damage really, and onto the floor. “I am so sorry, _monsei_ \- Magnus. Come now, Max. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The small teacup groaned and hopped back to the cart with as many huffs and puffs any normal child would express when opposing the rules. The two of them rolled back out of the room with their bickering and huffing, closing the door behind them. It was oddly endearing meeting the pair and yet it struck a chord within his heart. _That’s only a child,_ he thought.

“I guess it’s just you and me then,” Magnus drawled, turning to find the wardrobe softly snoring away in the corner. His lips quirked a smile. “Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thoroughly enjoy the banter/relationship of Magnus and Clary in general.
> 
>  
> 
> In other news, I am looking for a beta reader for the series to help me stay on track and keep an eye out for editing/grammar things. If interested, shoot me a message (or however it works here.)
> 
> Have a great day!


	6. Sins and Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the village, Camille reaches her breaking point. Raphael does everything in his power to keep her contained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!  
> Extra update for the late chapter yesterday.  
> I rewrote this chapter about five times and I still don't know how to feel about it. What happens has to happen.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning:  
> suggested non-consensual scenes  
> implied sexual situations  
> minor swearing

The storm hit the village hard. For two days the entire community was in chaos. The days were plagues with the livestock running free throughout the town and causing havoc; the people were worse, running around trying to get everything to stay in place and not flying through the neighbor’s window or roof. Meanwhile the nights were a different danger. The winds picked up the colder breezes, leaving the families cold and stiff in their own homes hoping the fires wouldn’t burn out. And in the darkness, the flying debris could have anyone for the taking with the wood stakes, fencing, roofing tile, anything. The safest plan was to stay indoors and brace for any impact in the night.

Raphael was taking his own kind of precaution. He was beside himself at the bar with the thought of his lady and mistress. Camille was busy with her most recent _client -_ someone he apparently had no need of knowing, even though he did. He didn’t really care anyways. Dozens of men came to the woman for help with their needs and desires, and she obliged them. Learning names was useless at this point in the game, but with a name like Jonathan Sharpe, he couldn’t help but take notice. She had already made herself busy when he had arrived, more like thrown, into the establishment and a twisted feeling warped his stomach. It was something like fire and ice, but not. A distant feeling that he couldn’t quite reach with clarity. Not jealousy, no. There was no need for that emotion between the two of them. Pity. It was unadulterated pity for those who stepped foot into the House and right into her trap.

He gulped down the beer in his hand.

He often dreamed of a time where he wouldn’t be tethered to her every beck and call. It would be sunny out, no storms on the horizon - or ever. There would be blue skies; children happy. The land would be abundantly fertile and he would enjoy every second of getting his hands dirty. His sister would be there. _His sister…_

He slammed the drink down his throat, the liquid stinging along the way.

She haunted his dreams. Her running through the fields with flowers in her hair and a smile on her face. She would be happy - truly happy. She’d turn and make sure he was still there beside her before running out again and again and again. He’d laugh and look away, distracted. When he turned back, she was gone. The field was dead. The skies were dark. And his sister was gone…

He found another full glass sliding into his hand. The bartender gave him a pitiful glare saying _I understand. I know and feel your pain_. Raphael grimaced. He didn’t need anyone’s pity but his own.

Raphael kept drinking despite the unwanted glare.

From within Camille’s bedroom came the familiar sounds of fabric dragging and being pulled onto bodies, and Raphael finished his second drink with a swig. The odd man pushed aside her curtains clearly disheveled, pulling his pants on and tucking in his shirts before leaving the establishment with a shaking bang. He was peculiar, even for Camille, Raphael noted. He had never seen a man with white hair before. Perhaps an immigrant as well.

He waited for the minx to come slithering out of her den and curl up on his side with the smell of satisfaction and sex. She’s run a finger down arm and pull him back for a taste… She never came. That was never a good sign.

Raphael made his way over to her den of temptation and made no attempt to announce himself. There was no need. She somehow always knew who would approach her or come to her aid when she called. Then again, there were only a few people who would even dare getting within a few feet of her. He entered and found the woman semi-appropriate. Her scraps of clothing were somewhat on her body, but more so thrown and pulled on as an attempt to at least to try and cover up before he threw himself inside. It didn’t make him feel any better about the situation; only indifferent. He was only worried about the clouds of self-wallowing hanging low over her head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

The woman sighed, trailing her nail across the surface of her skin as if that could tell her everything. Something was wrong. He had seen this kind of thing happen before when she was left behind for another woman in Italy; and again when noticing a new wrinkle on her forehead a few months ago. He repeated the question.

She sighed louder, allowing her eyes to drift up at the man. Still nothing. She extended her arm, however, a sign that she did want to talk - just not right away. Raphael tended to her: taking her hand into his and placing a kiss, then pulling her clothes into their rightful positions with no objections. It was a frightening sight, almost, to see the woman so docile and unprotected. He could attack; smother her with the pillow until her thrashing stops and her body goes still cold. It would only take a moment…

He cleared his throat. “It has been quite the day, hasn’t it,” he stated randomly.

She kept staring off into the distance. The man took it as an opportunity to keep speaking. “The sky has turned an outrageous shade of purple. Hedgehogs attacked me on my way inside. Oh, and we’ve run out of sugar.”

“Is there something wrong with me?”

The man paused, allowing their surrounding to wash over him. _Madame Lumette’s Pleasure House_ was bustling with girls strutting around in their slim costumes. The men being blissfully entertained and filled to the brim with excessive amounts of alcohol. Their world was moving along the same current it had always flowed down. It was Camille that was the oddity in the situation. She watched the shadows through the fabric with the same distant look as though lost to reality.

“I don’t entirely understand the question,” he replied carefully. It was easy to set the woman off, especially in her current state. The slightest of hesitations could send her wallowing back into the darkness of her mind and towards another side he wished to never see; a hollow woman with a soul the color of the blackest of black. No emotion. No control.

He shivered at the thought. Raphael was fortunate to have only been told of her tales. But every tale had the smallest of truths warped into them.

“I believe you do.”

Raphael shook his head slightly. He straightened himself out. “What do you need me to do, then?”

The lady sighed, again, swinging her legs off of the edge of her bed and crossing them one over another. Raphael stepped closer to the woman and stopped with her pointed finger pressed hard against the center of his chest. His bones shook as her cold dark eyes drifted up his body slowly until settling onto his. It was like watching a cat play with a mouse - eventually, one of them got eaten.

She slithered her way into standing, the slip sheets of fabric rolling off of her body with more grace than she could ever possess. He watched as they pooled onto the ground by his feet. He was going to be like that one day. She would grow tired of him and the attempts he would make to try and distract her. She would throw him away like the linens and the trash and everything else she had used and grown bored of.

Her finger brought his attention back onto her eyes. “Distract me.”

She had grown closer to his clothed body - though, not for long. Her other hand was raking over the planes of his body, plucking at strings and buttons until his chest was exposed and the tops of his trousers loose and threatening to fall. She was practically purring against the man like the ensnaring feline she was, and he merely blinked towards the woman.

There was nothing there between them. There never was. There never will be. Perhaps they could have been friends. They could have reminisced on the good times together and enjoyed each other's company. Now, at the mere thought of the fantasy, the man wanted to burn. The only thing left between them was a stiff, deep void. Anything that could have been died a very long time ago - the day he was stolen from the fields.

Her lips grazed over the skin of his chest. “What are you thinking of?”

Her cold touch laid over the skin of his chest where his still heart lay. And she knew this very well. His heart was not racing as hers was and never would be for this kind of entertainment. But she checked every time as though his mind would change with the winds. Raphael shook his head slowly, “Only of you.” There was no lie in his words.

Camille nipped him. “Always?”

The fires of hell burned through him. The familiar and welcome feeling settling the ache in his heart and bones to distract him from this moment. Raphael bit his cheek before replying, “Always.”

Camille took that as encouragement. She pulled the shirt from his body and threw the man into the surface of her used bed. Helpless. He was utterly helpless. There couldn’t be any objection, any hesitation in his movements against her. There never was. One wrong move and that would be the end of _her_ …

The woman straddled him, now pulling at his pants. “That’s good,” she hissed, dragging her nails down his chest. The angry, red stripes took no time appearing on his pale body. Something, he thought, she enjoyed. A mark signified ownership and she had made many claims on his body.

“You won’t leave me,” she murmured from his waist. “Will you?”

Her breath was hot against him, yet sent cold throbs throughout his body. Hot and cold. Opposites. Always opposites. “So long as there is always a place by your side I will be there to fill it,” he appeased.

She hummed, busying herself with making sure nothing else lay between them. Skin on skin. Heart on heart. She was atop of him, as always. There was something she had said before about being on her back and feeling helpless and used. Raphael could now imagine the feeling. It was then that he noticed something about her. Something different; her movements against his body were primal and jagged. This was nothing but a desire than needed soothing. But the cold touch of her suggested otherwise…

“Now what is the matter that plagues your mind, _ma dame?_ ”

She looked down on him, panting. “Now is not the time for questions.”

They were kissing. Well, she was kissing him. He moved his lips ever so often to make it seem like he was interested. The faster she finished, the better. “Now is the best time,” he said between breaths.

Her ragged movements slowed. He could see her nails digging into his skin, but he had long since lost the feeling of anything beneath his neck. It was vile but to her, necessary. The woman sagged, huffed and climbed off of the man, picking up her linens.

“I’m afraid I’m no longer in the mood.” He fought to urge to be relieved just yet. There was always a second side to this Camille. _Opposites_. He laid there in the stench of her until the silence ate away at the last of her.

_“Is there something wrong with me?”_ she whispered again.

It happened so quickly, but it was like as noticeable as fireworks lighting the skies. Her shoulders hunched over in defeat. In her hands she held fallen linens to her face until the fabric fell ever so slowly.

She pulled at her hair suddenly, loosening out a wail. “There must be something wrong with me.”

Tears streaked down her face and she let go of her locks. The woman was an utter wreck. Her face had been smeared beyond ruin, lines of black streaming down her face and red patches across her cheeks.

“There is nothing wrong…” he tried, immediately shot down with her stained linens to the face.

“ _There must be.”_ Camille had a fire in her eye, but it was as black as her soul and as furious as the rage in her blood. “Why would he deny me? He hasn’t come to see me. He turns me away…”

Raphael had trouble keeping up with her. He sat up. “He who?”

She scoffed at him as though the answer was simple. _Oh. Magnus._

“Perhaps it’s the hair?” he offered.

Her hands immediately flew to her strands, looking at each piece before throwing it all behind her with a scream. “No!” He watched as she started to pace the length of the bed. “That’s not it.”

“I don’t know why,” she cried out before Raphael could get a word in. “What do I need to get his attention? His love?”

_Dignity._

“Perhaps,” he offered. “You need to convince him that you turned over a new leaf. Woo him. Show him you care.”

“What good is _playing nice?_ ” she huffed, throwing the pillow aside. “I can’t do that _stuff_ you’d expect as a wife. Cook? _Clean? My own house?_ He’ll never love me. I can see it written on his face.”

Raphael started reaching for his clothes and drew them on as he spoke slowly to her. “Then maybe it’s time to move on. Fresh start. We can move somewhere else. Somewhere new! Peru is nice this time of year. No storms. No complaining. New men…”

She stopped and smacked the man suddenly on the shoulder, the light suddenly turned on in her eyes. Her signature wicked smile curled her lip and Raphael knew exactly what he had accidentally gotten himself into. A six-foot deep hole.

“That’s it.”

He gulped. “What?”

She was quickly pulling on new robes, scrubbing her face raw of the ruined paint and makeup. “What you said! A fresh start!”

He recalled what he had said moments before, not really getting what may have triggered something to go off in that small head of hers. _Move on. Change. Start over._ Nothing struck him as odd. But whatever made steam come from that woman, a fire was not far behind.

Once dressed, Camille threw herself back into his lap and into his face. This is exactly what a trapped mouse would feel, he thought. Cornered and afraid. “There is only one way to get a clean slate between Magnus and I.”

“Compassion? Selflessness?”

There was probably a bruise forming with how consecutively she was smacking his arm. “Don’t fool yourself. Money,” she started. “And family devotion.”

“That’s two ways,” he drew out before it clicked. _Oh, no._ “I think you misunderstand,” he tried pleading with her. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is!” She laughed sharply. “There is already a woman in his life. And I think it’s time to _clean the slate_.”

“ _Camille…_ You can’t go around killing people you don’t like,” he hissed to her.

“As if I’d ruin my nails,” she scoffed, standing before the man as a different woman from a couple of moments ago. The broken woman gone and replaced with this driven, _mad_ banshee, caught on the smell of blood and the thrill of the hunt.

Fate, he had come to learn, was a bitch.

The doors to the House blew open with the east wind, smacking and rattling the nearby shelves and window shutters. Several patrons held on to the local decor, keeping them in their positions as other objects rocked and shook in place. The bartender swore as several of his mugs managed to be sent to the floor, sloshing perfectly good beer onto people’s feet. And in a world full of millions of people, the one person standing in the doorway was none other than Evelyn Bane herself.

She threw herself into the room. The woman was clearly disheveled, her hair in every which direction, and frantically grasping at whatever object closest to her, not bothering to try and close the wide open door behind her. The storm was much stronger than her. Her darkened eyes searched the room: _need help, need help,_ they said. Her cries grew louder and louder, disrupting the calm, quiet purr of the room.

Raphael lunged to help the woman, held back only by a perfectly managed hand from behind. Camille. Her eyes said it all.

_This one’s mine._

“I need help!” She pleaded as men threw her off of their arms and the women scurried off into their corners. “It’s my son. It’s Magnus.”

Camille’s ears and eyes perked at the sound of the name. She stood, putting on that sympathetic mask, wrapping her expensive shawl around her waist with a pointed finger. “What of him? Is he well?”

Evelyn’s eyes met with her piercing gaze. “No… he… Magnus… He’s being held prisoner… A castle. _A large haunted castle, full of shadows and monsters and… a beast!_ ”

The people in the House began laughing. Evelyn was painting herself into a corner with no one to believe her. She was screaming at the people to believe her. Raphael wanted to believe it too. It would account for his absence and Camille’s mood. But he had been into the woods countless times. There was no castle and there was certainly no beasts.

“ _Why won’t anyone believe me?”_

The poor woman threw herself around the room in circles until backing up towards him and his lady. Raphael had to catch her before she hit Camille first.

“You need to help me.” Her whole body was shaking beneath his hands; like thousands of little tremors and quakes that shook the ground ever so often but in this fragile woman. Raphael grasped at her until Evelyn gasped at his touch.

“You’re hurt,” he exhaled, pulling his hand back to find it shaded with red. “You’re _bleeding_.”

She wasn’t having it. Evelyn was near heaving for breath under his touch. “I’m fine… _But Magnus…_ ”

“You cannot help your son if you don’t help yourself first.” Camille sent him a glare that would send him another six feet into the ground. It wasn’t in his nature to not help someone in need. He had been teased without end for the desire as a child, and it seems it is not something one would outgrow.

Camille slid up to his side, her manicured hand appearing on the woman’s shoulder. “Me and my attendant shall help aide in the search for your son.”

Raphael spared her a hard glance. His lady exhaled. “After you’re tended to, of course.”

The House silenced at the woman. Evelyn nearly cried as she leapt at the other woman and gave her a deep hug. “Thank you. _Thank you._ ”

Raphael spotted the utter look of repulsion on Camille’s face before she replaced it with one of compassion. She held the frantic woman’s face close and wiped away her nearly frozen tears. “We girls need to stick together,” she purred to the other woman.

Camille took a step back and clapped her hands together. “Let’s make haste. Someone call the doctor! Any moment we spend not looking for your son may lead to his demise.”

.

Camille had never hated the cold so much.

The three of them had been out searching the woods for hours. The sun had already long since set behind the endless amounts of trees and mountains by the time they had left the village, leaving only a chilling cold to nip at the exposed skin of Camille’s outfit. They were so deep into the wood that it would take several hours just to navigate their way back into the village. She muttered profanities under her breath as she constantly readjusted her clothing to protect her against the breeze.

Raphael sat in the front of the wagon, directing and following the commands of Evelyn beside him. He was satisfied with the improved look of Evelyn. Her wounds, although extensive and hard to look at for too long, had been soothed, stitched and tended to with precision. She had damn near beat the doctor when he had said for her to lay in bed for a few days. She had to save her son, she had told him. He shut up real quick when she threatened to cut off body parts. And now she sat still in the cold as though it didn’t phase her at all; nothing but pumping adrenaline and the maternal instinct to save her child.

“Are we there yet?” Camille snapped from the back.

Raphael fought rolling his eyes. He spared the frantic woman a quick glance. “ _Madame?_ ”

Evelyn quickly looked around the bend they approached and pointed in a direction that seemed all too familiar from several hours ago. They could be going in circles for all he knew, and the darkness of the night was not helping their situation. Raphael followed her directions regardless.

“We’ve been out here for hours,” Camille groaned from behind. Again.

Evelyn shook her head and looked back to the trail. Camille had went to open her mouth to complain again when Evelyn gasped. _“That’s impossible._ Stop. _Stop!_ ”

Raphael yanked on the reins, sending the three lurching forwards in attempt to stop moving. Camille made the event dramatic, flinging herself back into her seat with a huff and toss of her hair. Evelyn made it out like a champion; not a hair out of place. She slid from the carriage and into the soft ground.

There was nothing there. At least, not in their eyes.

_This woman is even crazier than I thought_ , Camille thought with a grimace.

“There is nothing there,” Camille bluntly stated.

There truly was nothing there. It had been the same path they must have traveled before, but in a different lighting. The moon was helping somewhat on their path whenever it peaked from the endless amounts of clouds. But there was still no ‘hidden path’ that led to a ‘decaying castle’.

Camille pointed at the woman. “You lied.”

“I did not!” The woman cried. “The storm! There was a lot of rain, and thunder. Then there was lightning and it struck that tree down - yes, _that tree -_ oh, but it’s somehow standing back upright…”

Raphael felt a twinge of pity in his heart. The woman was trying so hard to find her son, which Raphael admired, and yet she was making the matter worse by all of the declarations she was making. That was the last straw for Camille.

“That is _it!_ ” Camille declared, standing up in the wagon and climbing her frigid way out of the back. She made her way around to Evelyn’s side and pulled the woman out by her hair away from the wagon. Raphael tried to block out the woman’s cries and looked away, not being able to bear to look at her.

“I tried my best,” Camille claimed, throwing her arms up. “You really are an old bat.”

Evelyn struggled to get up onto a knee. “Perhaps I was wrong. The real monster in these woods is _you_.” Raphael inhaled sharply as a dry, wicked laugh came from the other woman.

“You just don’t get it.” Camille crouched low next to the woman. “Strong women have a place in this world, not weak-minded things like you. With you out of the picture, Magnus is sure to take me to be his wife.”

Evelyn spat at the woman. “My son would never marry someone with the likes of you.”

Raphael didn’t need to look at the two women to know what would happen. There was a snarl, a slap, swear words and the feel of the carriage tipping with added weight. Camille straightened her dress in her lap and looked onwards with a distant look on her face.

“Take me home,” came the cold voice he had heard countless times. “We have business to take care of.”

The way she said the word made his skin crawl. He knew what that meant for him. “Yes, _ma dame._ ”

Camille wiped the blood off from her nails as if it could erase the details of what had been done in the wood. Raphael wished that could be true to him. He could never erase the sounds of Evelyn Bane’s cries and pleas as the two made off like bandits into the night, where his own punishment lay waiting for him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are!  
> Camille's exposed.  
> Raphael's torn.  
> Evelyn's out of the picture.
> 
> What. Will. Happen. Next?  
> Stay tuned!
> 
> Have a great day!


	7. Peace Offerings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes playing nice doesn't always go to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be Our Guest!

Magnus took a moment to gather his thoughts. 

They had long since completed the rope; its length somewhere around fifty or sixty feet. It was ready to go and yet a sharp throb shot through his heart at the thought of leaving everyone alone in such a place. They didn’t deserve this. No one deserved to live a life like this. On the other hand, there was an even tighter tug when he thought of why he should go on with his plan:  _ to help maman _ .

He snapped himself out of his daze and dragged the heavy thing to the window. The window alone was a challenge. The hinges were weathered with age, the wood panels cracking and chipping, and Magnus nearly broke one off of the wall while trying to open it. 

_ “Magnus.” _ He hissed at Clary to be quiet. The rope unraveled over the trim and stopped just short from a small ledge.

Perfect.

“Please be careful,” Clary reminded as he made sure the rope was secured around the foot of the bed.

“Careful is my middle name.”

The wardrobe held both hands on her hips. She didn’t say anything. She really didn’t need to. He could hear his mother’s words echo through his head on how stupid ideas get people hurt. But a stupid idea like this could rid him of this place for good.

Magnus fumbled the fabric in his hands and stood atop the window sill, overlooking the extent of the drop if he were to slip up and fall. The ravine below was deep and long, a taller cluster of crystalline rock standing proud and very, very sharp. He gulped, quickly turning away with a stirring of his gut. It really wasn’t the height that was bothersome. He had spent plenty of time by the cliffsides of the country to feel comfortable around them. It was the idea of falling that made him slightly sick. Clary opened her mouth to object but Magnus gave her a smirk and took his first step out of the window. 

It wasn’t as hard as he initially thought. Gravity was doing most of the work for him. The rest was just making sure not to let go of the rope and fall to his ultimate death. 

No big deal. 

He kept his mind elsewhere purposefully. His home. His mother… She would be having a fit right now. She’s be fussing up a storm with Clary on how dangerous it was to jump out of a window without first thinking of the risks versus its benefits. And by the time they would have discussed everything, his window of opportunity would have closed. Simon could have walked in with food and discovered his plans - or worse, Jace. No doubt the clock would go and rat on him the second he smelled something was wrong. He’s a clock. Punctuality is everything. 

His mother would probably like him the most, though. She was always concerned about time; having too much and having far too little. She would have made friends with Clary the moment she saw her too. Perhaps not join in on a dressing party, but maybe talk about clothes. And Magnus probably. His heart ached at the thought of her not being here or possibly being somewhere far worse.

Magnus swore. 

His grip on the rope slipped, losing an inch or two of material as he desperately clung to the rope with only one hand still attached to it. And to make matters worse, the little gusts of wind that burst from time to time sent his body flailing like a poor rag doll. Clary had been right; it really is stronger up here. But he’d be damned if he let a little wind blow him to his death. Magnus grunted and pulled himself with all of his might to leverage his other arm back into position.

Careful was not his middle name. Nowhere close to it. 

Clumsy.

Reckless. 

Impulsive. 

Careless.

Those are much better.

_ Calm. Stay calm. Focus. _

_ No more distractions. _

He kept his slow pace moving down the rest of the rope. Every gust of wind that came to attack him, he endured. It was the upper body strength that was the problem; he had none.

_ Breathe. Keeping breathing. _

Allowing gravity to help him along the way, the next time he spared a glance downwards he panted in relief that there was only a few more feet beneath him. A thick layer of snow covered the entire surface of the ledge, its crystals glistening in the minimal light it was exposed to.

“Yes,” he murmured to himself as he felt the landing first with his right foot, the snow beneath crunching. He could practically see - taste the freedom before him, he was so close.

Home. He was going to go home. Magnus went to place the second foot down when hell broke loose. The snow beneath his feet gave away, along within the thin amount of roofing he had hoped would help him escape.

Swear word after swear word tumbled out of his lips, and he’d prefer that than himself from the building.

He had overestimated the size of the footing -  _ optimistically overestimated _ . From above it looked much better. The snow made it look like there was room for his whole foot to piston about. Now, with it within grasp and breaking , it was large enough for either the heel of his foot or the ball.

Not both.

His body twisted and jerked, his hands the only leverage on keeping him alive. The wind as a vile meddler in his fate as it pushed him to and fro against the building, grunting against every toss and turn Fate assigned for him.

He swore again. There was enough left of the ledge that he could make it to the roof of another extended room of the castle, approximately three, four feet of roofing he could make sanction on. And from there, he was optimistic he would find either a lattice to climb down or even better - a ladder. 

Magnus knew he would find neither.

There was something Magnus had never really come to terms with in his life. He would fight and run but it would always come back in the end. His family was simply cursed with bad luck.

More of the small ledge broke beneath the added weight of his body trying to find a good grip. The small cobble cracking and sending more of the ledge into the ravine below and leaving less of a chance for Magnus to live.  _ Shit. _ He gritted his teeth as he slid down the rope, holding on to a few mere inches left before his demise. _ Double shit. _

His heart leapt and his mind racing to figure this out.  _ Come on. Think.  _

He could climb back up. No. He was barely holding on as it was. 

He lost another inch, biting into all of his strength left.

_ Swing.  _ His optimism was not the best. It got him into this situation and now it was going to get him out. Swinging towards the other roof and landing would save him. And missing... 

Another inch left his grasp.

Magnus dug into the deepest parts of him to muster the strength he needed to save his life. The man started swinging his legs, jerking the rope out of place slightly before it became a steady rhythm. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left.

And he let go.

His body slammed hard into the roofing, sliding down its slick surface until his fingers grabbed tight on the gutter rails.  _ Not yet. I'm not dying just yet. _

Magnus pulled himself up, leveraging both arms and legs alike to finally get his body onto the roof.  _ Safety. I'm safe.  _ He panted in relief. His body screaming for oxygen and all of his limbs screaming for relaxation. But he found himself laughing… crying on that roof top. Years… It had been years since he had felt this alive. His heart like the strongest horse flying through the fields. His breath completely gone. There was only relief flooding through his system. Pure relief and astonishment.

Another day. He would live for another day.

And then it began to snow.

.

“You’re crazy,” Clary said as she wrapped a thick wool blanket around his shoulders. “But I admire the effort.”

She had found him standing in the hall, wet, with the largest grin on his face. It startled the wardrobe. He looked like a madman; his hair both shooting in every other direction and sagging against his face. Clearly not entirely a success, but if it got the man smiling, Clary was pleased as well. 

He was half naked, clinging to the blanket in efforts to heat his body once again. The cold never really bothered him, but it was thrust upon him so often in life it became a hindrance. Magnus managed to get into the tub Clary had prepared for him, slipping into the tub of suds with ease and a long moan.

His fingers danced along the edge of the tub, the mounds of bubbles, the rippling water. “Why are you so nice to me,” Magnus asked through the crack in the door.

He could hear the wardrobe creak to a slight halt before resuming her activities. “You’re the first guest we’ve had in… years.”

“Why?” 

Another pause. “The master doesn't take kindly to strangers. That's all.”

He asked again. “Why?”

“Trust issues, perhaps. I’ve been beside him all my life and he’s never been too fond of people in general.”

“Why?”

Her drawers snapped closed. “If you keep asking me that question I’ll come in and drown you.”

Magnus chuckled. “You can come in here all you want. I know you won't.”

The wardrobe sighed, muttering something along the lines of  _ ducking glass mole _ . He sunk into the bubbles with a smile. He wasn't going to let anything ruin the hammering of his heart this time. One moment of peace. That was all he wanted.

“Your clothes and meal are by the bed when you’re ready,” she called out through the tub. “I’ll be in the dressing room if you need me.”

“ _ Bless you, ma dame.” _

He heard the door click and then there was silence. He didn't want it to affect him. But it did. The silence was stiff and suffocating, killing the thrill that was thriving in his blood. Perhaps fate really did hate him.

Magnus looked like a prune by the time he got out of the bathtub. He had maybe fallen asleep for a few moments and realized the water was going cold and he could not experience that again. He wrapped himself in one of the bathrobes laid out for him and entered the bedroom. It seemed different to the man. It was the same bed, chandelier, battered window. But there was something else. Something that wasn’t there when he had first been welcomed into the room... 

“Feel better?” the wardrobe asked, finishing folding his clothes on the bed.

Clary, Magnus decided, would be an easy friend to have. At first, they may have gotten off on the wrong foot - being childish and all - but in the end she was far more caring and open than most people he had met in his life. And her sense of fashion wasn't too bad either. She had laid out a simple red shirt with black embroidery and matching black pants for him and he wasn't objecting. He nodded.

She left him to get dressed, the man getting distracted by the smell of food wafting in from the door. He made his way skeptically, opening the door with much more ease and comfort.  _ That's not a meal. That's a buffet.  _ They had promised him food, but nothing like this. There was a silver tray left by the door on the ground, but it was at least two-three feet long. That was more than enough space for a sandwich or something small. Magnus brought the tray inside and sat the thing down on the dresser to reveal  _ heaven.  _ Pork legs. Potatoes. Vegetable soup. Bread. Each food group was well represented before him, and there wasn’t an ounce of complaining coming from his lips. 

He had never eaten so much in his life. 

That was probably greater than all of the food he had eaten throughout his life. And that was a startling realization that made Magnus put his napkin on the tray and push it aside for the rest of the evening.

Yet another example of the luxuries and splendors of the castle while suffering occurred less than a hundred miles away.

Magnus found himself bored after eating, having flopped on the bed and never moving since. He had been staring at the ceiling for so long he knew there were seven cracks, three stains, and an odd mark that looked like a fish in the corner. He sat up. 

There had been no further word from Simon and Jace, or Clary for that matter. She had disappeared into the sewing room when he had gotten dressed and hasn’t come out since. Magnus was left alone with his food and his troubling thoughts. He found himself gravitating for the door. They wouldn’t mind if he took it upon himself to be his own welcoming tour guide… Would they?

He stood in the hallway by the door. He knew where the main foyer was: down the hall, right and down the stairs. But there was nothing more than a fireplace and sitting room. He could go to the tower, but thinking about it sent chills up his spine. 

_ This castle has so much more than it looks. _

“ _ Monsieur,”  _ came his familiar lit friend. “How may I help you?”

“I was wondering if I could go and take a look around. If I'm going to be a guest, I’d want to know my way around a little.”

The candlestick froze. His candles flickering and growing taller and shorter as he spit out words. “ _ Oh…  _ I think it would be wiser if you would  _ stay _ ..  _ in your room _ , of course. In case of any strays or fallen pieces of the castle…” The man kept rambling on and on with excuses.

_ Oh _ . Magnus leaned against the door frame, narrowing his eyes. “He doesn't know. Does he?”

His flames dimmed and that was all the answer he needed.

“I see…” Magnus drew out. He threw up his hands. “I’ll stay in my room. But is there anything I could do.. or have…?”

He couldn't really finish his question without feeling more guilty with every word falling out of his mouth. He didn't want to bluntly state,  _ hey, I'm bored.  _ Or suggest otherwise. Clary was good company but you could only handle so much discussion about clothing and any other discussion was usually dead within three minutes or so.

_ “Oui. Oui.  _ I know just the thing,” the man said before trotting off down the hall with determination. Magnus retreated back to his room where he pretended as though he didn't exist.

 

Simon took his time coming back with something for Magnus. Not that he noticed how long it took him, or anything. There was a simple knock and then a wave of footsteps running away from the door.

Magnus opened to find two books and a fresh meal.  _ Ham and cheese _ . He picked up the tray and books and got to work multitasking.

Read a sentence. Snack. Finish the page. Snack. Finish the chapter. Snack. Magnus eventually had it down to a science. He would eat when parts were too slow and dragging along. And then he would get pulled along into the plot and suddenly choke on the food he didn't know was still in his mouth. And he kept doing that until he completed both of the books.

He set the two books and two trays of food outside of his door, closed it and waited. It was probably another hour before he heard the same timid knock and sounds of running away.

Another two books, and this time a glass of wine and some grapes.

He repeated his science. And waited again. Another two books and another glass of wine.

Again. And again. And again until he fell asleep with his book in hand and the dreams of adventures filling his mind.

.

Magnus had somewhat gotten used to be awakened by strange things. He had once been wakened by a cat on his face - the neighbor’s feline called Church. A beautiful, plump animal, in all respect. But the moment Magnus reached for him, the cat briskly walked away as though he was the only one to make decisions. Magnus didn’t mind. Another time had been by Ryder peeking in through the window. Then Clary. And now the sound of the castle falling to pieces. 

It probably wasn't as bad as it was being echoed through the halls, but it was enough to jerk him from rest and knock over his wine glass on the end table. Glass shattering over the floor and leaving the sleep grogging man to slowly process the information.

“Is everything all right?” Clary came asking at the sound of broken glass. She came around the side of the bed and frowned. “I’ve got just the thing.”

She quickly got to work, which Magnus felt terribly guilty about. He was a grown man. And he definitely knew how to clean up his own messes. He gathered his bearings and slid from the comfort of the mattress, muttered an apology to the wardrobe, and earned a  _ notyourfault _ remark along with a new change of clothes.

 

Today it was the same outfit but with a blue shirt with white embroidery. Magnus played with the hems of the shirt, an odd feeling curling around in his stomach. Something he couldn't place.

“Is everything okay?” Clary asked.

He nodded. “Of course. Everything’s fine,” he said as he grabbed the two books and set them outside and waited for a knock that would never come.

.

On the other side of the castle, the beastly man walked sturdy and prepared to beat down anyone in his way at any moment. Jace, Lydia and the lovely feather duster, Isabelle, we're all moving about the dining room and kitchen, preparing both a meal for the master and one for their guest upstairs. Simon was running around upstairs as well, on a  _ mission _ he wouldn't even tell Jace.

The three of them were all chatting, murmuring and whispering about Magnus, the curse and their master when the kitchen doors flung open to reveal the man himself. Panic settled into the room as they stood to attention.

The master was angry on a good day. And on bad days… it was best to be found nowhere. They all held their glare with the man as he stalked in circles about the kitchen, his eyes immediately falling on the excession amount of food. And then onto an extra carrier platter for an additional person.

He flipped. His roar rattled the kitchen and all of its pots, pans and galore. Lydia had to hold on to her plates to make sure they wouldn't go crashing to the floor.

“What  _ is this?” _ He demanded.

Whenever the master asked questions, it was best for everyone to answer as promptly as possible. But for them, the words just wouldn't come out. 

“Well… you see…”

“There’s this thing…”

They all halted their rambling at his low growl. “ _ Explain.” _

“ _ Monsieur,  _ we thought it would be best if our guest had a proper meal since we nearly found him dead in the tower…”

Strike one. “ _ Our guest?” _

Jace cowered slightly, only having so much courage against the man. “ _ Oui, sir.  _ I was just about to take it to his room -”

Strike two. “ _ His room?” _

“ _ Oh boy,” _ the girls exhaled.

Jace was backing himself into a literal corner - only a few inches left of the table for him to stand on. “ _ Oui, Oui.” _

_ “Anything else _ you’d like to share?”

Jace went to shake his head as the other doors to the kitchen sprung open to reveal the secretive friend. “Hey. Is the tray ready? I think I’ve picked out some good ones…” Simon finally looked up from the two books in his non-lit hands. 

_ Strike three.  _

“Are those,” he stalked towards him. “From  _ my library?” _

Simon gulped, eyes darting. Jace was shaking his head and excessively dragging his hand across his neck. The girls were also shaking their heads like rag dolls. And Simon couldn't help but bite back the whimper of a word when threatened by his growl so close to his face.

“ _ Yes?” _

Jace slapped his face.  _ Wrong answer. _

He was sent into his boiling fit of rage, the group of them trying every technique and method of deflection and calming to settle the man down. He was throwing plates, cups, whole shelving units to the ground in such a small space. The Beast even threw his fist into the nearby wall, cracking the entire thing. It was Isabelle who managed to get through that thick skull of his.

“Are you trying to stay this way forever?”

The question sent chills through his bones. He refused to answer her question, heaving by the splintering wall. She floated a little closer to him.

“Don't you actually want a  _ normal life _ ?”

He growled. “ _ Of course I do.” _

“Then get. A. Grip.”

The man scowled. She flew closer, her feathers dancing around his fur and jabbing them into his skin like before. “Start acting like a man.”

“ _ I’m not a man,” _ he roared, then exhaled. “Not anymore.”

“You’re not trying hard enough.”

His blood boiled. What did she expect from him? Dress up? Play hard to get?  _ Flirt?  _ He wasn't going to play with the human and ever more so, himself. That was just cruel. But they were running out of time. All of them. The worst part of it all was they all had a glimmer of hope still left in their eye. He had lost that feeling a long time ago. “What do I need to do?”

“The real question,” she hummed. 

Jace and Lydia piped up. “Just be yourself. Be nice. People like that.”

The man huffed. “Choose one. I can't do both.”

Jace rubbed his jaw. “Well.. how about something simple. Baby steps,” he offered.

Lydia grinned. “Yes! How about asking him to join you for dinner?”

“Dinner?” He scoffed. 

The collective nodded. “It's a good way to start,” they said. “Start small. Go bigger with time.”

He - unwillingly - agreed. He would sit on the far end of the table, away from the man, he had compromised. And his servants gladly accepted. They’d take whatever option they had at this point. Time was not on their side. The man begrudgingly went to get ready for the night, stopping beside the relieved candlestick.

“If I ever see you having entered the library again,” he threatened. “I will make sure those candles of yours stay snuffed forever.” Simon gulped and nodded in fear, and he returned the books to their rightful spots, locked the doors and pretended like he had never opened them in the first place.

 

The group followed their master up to the guest’s room both because of his explicit demand to do so as well as damage control. People were not his strong suit; so as he may be saying one thing, he may have wanted say something completely different. That's what started this whole mess.

The man was hesitant. He looked everyone in the eyes and saw their urgency. So much expectation laid on his shoulders.  _ Again,  _ he added. He finally stepped up to the door and knocked firmly. “You will join me for dinner,” came his deep voice against the gravel of wood.

Jace face palmed. “We’re going to hell.”

Simon smacked his friend, standing closer to Isabelle. “Perhaps, say please. Manners go a long way.”

The other objects all wanted to smack Simon for being so blunt. The last time one of them had suggested something so straight-forward there were broken vases, torn rugs, and a very angry clock.

The man huffed, knocking at the door once again but in a softer manner. “Will you please join me for dinner?”

From within he could hear the shuffling of both feet and furniture - most likely Clary - and the odd hum of whispering. “I’m not hungry.”

“This is your only chance. I will not be so… kind next time,” the man bit out.

“Kind?” The man’s dry, cold laugh came from within. “What do you know of kindness? You’d have rather let me freeze to death up in that god damned tower!”

“Oh no,” Isabelle muttered as the man’s face turned a sour shade of red and a growl rumbled throughout the hall, frames and antiques shaking.

“Then if you aren’t willing to dine with me, then you’d better  _ starve _ !”

Jace and Isabelle tried reasoning with the master and only got a huff and an angry stomp. “If he is not eating with me, then he is not to eat at all. No more  _ snacks.  _ No more  _ trays.  _ No more nothing.  _ Do you understand _ ?”

The four of them hesitantly nodded, and then watched their master stomp off down the hall and fade into the shadows. It could have been worse, they all thought. But it could have gone so much better as well. However, this was the most progress they had ever seen from their master -  _ actual human interaction _ . 

There was still hope. He may not see it, but they had enough brimming deep inside.

.

His heart was thundering away in his chest; a raging, heavy thumping that stirred the fire in his chest and turned it into something more. His hand was itching. His lungs screaming. He just needed to let out all of the bubbling anger and frustration that one man can do with only a couple of words. Magnus let out a short burst of a scream, pulling at the strands of his hair. He wanted to pull his hair out. He wanted to punch, tear, scream his way throughout the room until nothing was left unturned. 

“ _ I hate him, _ ” he declared, allowing his body to sag against the wall. He slid slowly down until he sat firmly against the ground. “Is he always so… so…”

“ _ Insufferable? _ ”

He had never felt so angry in his entire life. It hit him like a wave, an unexpected hit to the chest that sent all of his resolve out of the window alongside any hope of finding happiness in this damned place. 

“Not always,” Clary comforted the man. She discreetly handed over a handkerchief.

His hand immediately flew his face, wet with the tears he didn't know he had been shedding. Angry tears, he thought. Stubborn, angry tears. “Thank you,” he huffed and wiped his face.

“You get used to it,” the wardrobe continued, shuffling about the room giving the man space. 

Magnus let out a breath of air. “As if.”

“Or… You can do something about it.” She settled in a spot in the corner of the room. “Two bulls can go head to head until they eventually tire out.”

The man gawked. “Did you just insinuate that I be  _ a bull?” _

Her drawers shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. Of course she had insinuated that. He knew he was stubborn and a spit-fire, as his mother would describe him. But he hadn’t really dealt with anyone  _ more _ hot-headed than himself. Camille had been needy and easy to avoid and deal with.  _ This?  _ Magnus found the idea of fighting fire with fire would only lead to a bigger fire.

_ Stupid. Just leave already. There is nothing tying you here.  _

_ Maman.  _

_ You’re doing this for maman. _

Although he had already wiped the hot tears away, he could still feel it - that painful ache and need to just  _ let go.  _ So he allowed his head to hit the wall as he allowed for a lone tear to fall before quickly wiping it away.

.

The Beast made it all the way to his room undisturbed. His servants never dared to come to his side of the castle, let alone discuss there was anything there to begin with. He knew that silence would follow him wherever he went, but the idea of it made something settling deep in his stomach. He ran a paw through his hair, making it more disheveled than it already was, and approached the wicked flower that damned him in the first place. 

It was the same as it always was. Hovering. Glowing. Taunting. Except another petal had fallen.

He had noticed. With each passing petal more of the castle fell to despair. He supposed there was really no need for the southern tower and halls anyways. There was only the second ballroom, the office and more bedrooms over there anyways. He had no need for useless things like that. Perhaps this curse was doing him a favor.

His gaze fell beyond the flower, towards its side where another gift the Enchantress had left laid. He reached beside the glass container and grabbed ahold of the golden handheld mirror. It was as beautiful as the flower itself, and even more so a reminder to what he was and how little he could do for himself.

“Show me him,” he commanded of it. The piece of glass glowed, smoke swirling around within before showing the man slumped against the wall of his bedroom with his face hidden in his hands and hair.

_ Destroyed. _

_ He  _ had done that. He was the only one to blame.

The Beast tossed the mirror back down onto the table and let himself be swallowed by hopeless thoughts.

.

Magnus thought it would be best to just sleep after the events of the previous night. It was easy, the exhaustion of crying wiping him out the moment he laid his head on the bed. But now he was just lying there on the bed, hours passing by the second. The fish stain hadn’t moved, unfortunately. But he found another that looked more so a constellation group. 

_ Idiot.  _ He kept cursing at himself.

He was the only one to blame for his situation. He could have said yes. He could have opened the door and eaten. But no. His own kindness was thrown to the wind along with any possibilities of eating in the house for the rest of his life. Magnus hated himself.

Another hour passed. And another. Magnus watched the sun begin to set.  _ One day ends as to allow another day to begin.  _ The darkness swallow up the length of the room and still nothing was spoken or moved in the silence. If Clary had tried talking to him, he didn’t notice. It was like he was floating in his own pocket of space. Things existed but became distant and unnecessary. White noise. The man became aware with the sounds of whispers beyond the door.

“Hello?” Came a timid voice and knock to the door.

Magnus readjusted himself, standing to his feet as the door creaked open and Simon walked in. They weren’t supposed to be interacting with him. “What are you doing here?”

The candlestick looked offended. “Why to show you to the dining room, of course.”

“Why would I want to go there?” Magnus stayed close to the bed, holding to the post like an extra limb. 

“Well, traditionally, dining rooms are used for serving food.”

The man waved his hands. “Yes, but he said  _ if he doesn’t eat with me he doesn’t eat at all _ , no?”

Simon pursed, hands on his hips. “He did say that. But he said no snacks or trays. There is none of that. A meal, it is.”

Magnus too pursed his lips. The master had said to not serve him anything at all, and he was definitely sure this fell into that category. But if Simon was adamant of giving the man food against direct orders,  he wasn't going to fight too hard in objection.

“I mustn’t. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.” 

Simon scoffed. “There no objection from us! Now, follow me if you want to live.”

Magnus rose an eyebrow and Simon began jittering. “Apologies. I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“Simon, you say that all the time,” a new voice came from behind him - a feather duster. A beautifully crafted one, Magnus might add. Pristine white feathers and the stem of the handle - and her head, respectively - in the shape of a dove. 

“Sorry, Izzy.”

The feather duster - Izzy - floated in behind Simon into the room. “I’ve been dying to meet you. I’m Isabelle.”

“A pleasure.” He’d offer a hand if she had one, settling for a smile and curt nod. 

“Now, if you’d follow us. We’ll lead the way.” Magnus had no choice but to follow. He felt like he’d be pestered if he backed out now. He nodded and followed them out into the hallway.

He stayed behind the group, out of place following too close or beside the small objects. He had the slightest fear he would accidentally step on one of them and end up being an involuntary murderer. From ahead, Isabelle sashayed in a way that spoke magnitudes for a duster. She was certainly a woman who you didn't want to mess with.

“How long have you been here,  _ ma dame? _ ”

Isabelle hummed. “My whole life. The master and I practically grew up together.”

“Clary said the same thing,” he noted. The feather dusted halted slightly in her step before resuming her pace. “How old are you?”

The woman chuckled. “One  _ never  _ inquires a woman about her age. However, I will be turning three and twenty if I can make it to the spring time.”

“Why wouldn’t you make it to the spring?” he had asked before Simon suddenly cleared his throat. “Here we are!” He claimed and pushed open a large door that entered into a grand dining room large enough to seat at least fifty people. He pulled out the head chair and gestured for Magnus to take a seat.

“Please,  _ Monsieur. _ ”

Magnus nodded and took his seat while Simon rushed off into the back room.

.

Simon walked his way into the bustling kitchen. It was a sight to behold. There were plates washing themselves in the sink. The stove was brewing the stew and searing the meat for tonight's meal. Lydia was helping polish every glass, mug and cup imaginable. He wished that it could always be like this.

_ There's still hope.  _ The man sitting at the end of the table, creating small talk with Isabelle, was their last chance at a normal life. And although their master may have created some tension in the air, it was now up to them to fix it.

“Simon! What on earth are you doing?” Jace’s voice cut into his thoughts.

Simon sighed. Jace was as punctual as usual, interrupting and ruining his plans for the perfect night. “What does it look like?”

If Jace had been the one to be cursed to a teapot, steam would be storming from his ears. “You know what the master said. No food. No nothing. Do you want to be yelled at again or thrown?”

Simon pat his friend on the shoulder. “Calm down, my friend. If the master finds out and likes the idea, I will tell him it was your idea. And if not, it's still your idea.”

Jace was flattered for all of five seconds. “Well… if you insist - wait!” Simon was hustled off in the direction of playing food that was being finished. “You are being far too loud cooking up whatever you are down here.  _ He’s going to find out and when he does -” _

“Yes, yes,” Simon nagged. “Breaking. Shouting. Running. I’ve got it. But he won't find out!”

Simon pat his back, making note not to burn him too badly. “Wait and see, Jace. This is for naught. We’re helping, see? We’ll break this curse before you know it!”

“Simon!” Jace called, but Simon was already whisked away by Lydia, giving orders and requests before being rushed back into the dining room.

.

Magnus could somewhat hear their discussion through the not-so-protective swinging kitchen doors. He had been chatting with Isabelle on how she managed to keep her feathers so well groomed when the conversation died at the sound of Jace’s opposition. 

“Is he always like that?” Magnus asked.

Isabelle sighed. “Yes. A rule follower by heart.”

Magnus's attention was immediately captured at the sight of Simon as he rolled out with Lydia and leapt onto the table gracefully. He applauded the man and he took a bow. 

“Thank you. Thank you,” he accepted.

The candles man clapped his hands together and the light of the dining room dimmed slightly and the chandelier above him glowed, creating his own personal spotlight. Show off. 

_ “Monsieur _ , it is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. We invite you to relax, as the dining room presents… Your dinner.”

Simon was quite the showman. Lights. Action. He need only a larger audience and he was set. He clapped his hands together again and the doors to the kitchen flew open with grace. Magnus was bombarded with chandelier lights and a suddenly large amount of food being placed on the table. 

A whole ham. A fruit and cheese platter. Meat stew. Vegetable stew. Food without end displaying the various colors of the rainbow unlike he had ever seen, and all within his grasp. Throughout his life, Magnus could never have afforded these finer pleasures in life. Bread and whatever meat was the cheapest was what his stomach was built off of. And after being introduced to this place, he didn't know if he’d be able to go back. Regardless, his stomach cried out in thanks.

Magnus hesitated grabbing as much as possible to put into his plate. Simon took note.

“Please, help yourself. We want you to be our welcomed guest here in the castle,” he continued, making his way between every other entree. 

“I don’t feel like a guest,” Magnus replied, not actually needing to lunge towards the food. The food came to him. The plates moved on their own, sliding pieces and slices into his own plate with ease. Lydia filled his glass with fine wine. She must have been the one to choose what he had earlier. 

Simon wiggled his nose. “I understand. You’re alone, scared. We’re not the greatest bunch to be thrown into… But not everything here is gloomy.”

The other objects agreed, with the exception of the missing clock at the table.

Magnus let the statement weigh on him for longer than he would have liked. He’d wanted adventure. He wanted something more to his life. And now he had been thrown into a pot full of magic, cursed objects and the feeling something could go horribly wrong at any given moment. He took a sour sip of his wine, grimacing at the taste.

“Let it breathe for another moment.” Magnus politely nodded, digging into his food. The silence hanging above him thick enough to cut with his knife. 

“What can you tell me about this place?” Magnus asked to break the silence, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth. 

However, that question raised even more awkward tension hanging in the air. A common theme, Magnus started to notice. A castle so full of questions and yet no one wanted to answer them. Not entirely.

Simon clicked his candles together, thinking of what to say, dashing his eyes between Magnus and Lydia before another voice spoke out quicker.

Jace. “For years we’ve been sitting around the castle, waiting for anyone -  _ someone -  _ to wind up finding this place…”

The others grew solemn. “In turn, we’ve ended up rusting, gathering dust, not being able to do what we’re best at. It’s an… Unnerving life.”

Magnus brought his napkin to his mouth. “That’s horrible.”

“Indeed it is.” They all hummed in agreement.

Magnus could see it; the hope and grief in all of their eyes. The slightest glimmer of light brightening whenever they turned towards him.

_ Why me? _

He audibly gulped, taking a much needed drink of wine. Perfect.

“So, Simon…” The candlestick looked up from beyond the food. “Isabelle told me you’re a musician.”

Another flicker of light shot through his eye. “Indeed,  _ monsieur.” _

“May I hear something, then? Or I’ll have to think the worst…”

“ _ Deui _ .” He pointed at the all too cheeky feather duster. “You  _ devil.” _

“ _ Mon cher,” _ she purred.

“I’ll give you a performance you’ll never forget,” he promised. And Magnus held him to that.

He pulled out everything. The special light refraction for each chandelier in the room. The choreographed pieces of his dancing alongside the plates. The sound of his voice came across the room beautifully, he had to admit. It was certainly a moment he could hardly forget.

At the finale of his performance, Simon dramatically dropped to the table. Magnus stood in applause, as did his fellow audience members. Lydia called his name. Isabelle was whistling. Jace, of course, was gushing everyone complaining they were being too loud.

They all silently agreed to quiet down somewhat for his guaranteed peace on the matter and allowed Magnus to finish the rest of his meal with simple bantering and bickering of the show to fill the silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any spelling mistakes/grammar no-nos. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	8. In the Dark of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you had the chance to run, would you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the latest chapter! Had to rewrite the fight scene a few times until it seemed like it wasn't chunky as hell. Hope you enjoy!

“Thank you for the meal,  _ Monsieur _ .”

It was an evening Magnus was likely to never forget, and certainly one he wouldn’t want to forget. It opened his eyes to these people and their own stories. Simon would have blushed if he could, although his flames did grow a bit higher than usual. He brushed away the compliment and clicked his candles together once again to have the others start cleaning up the meal.

Magnus pushed himself away from the table as Lydia rolled up beside him with a smile.

“Now it’s off to bed with you. Another bright day awaits you tomorrow, after a full night’s rest.”

“Of course,” Magnus obliged, walking beside the teapot out of the dining room and down the hall. The two of them fell into talking about simple matters, telling her about his mother, his father, the village.

They took their time venturing down one hallway down to another until it led to the stairwell above the foyer, the one place he found familiar. It connected to a split set of stairs that led to his bedroom and then to another side of the castle he had no clue existed.

“What’s there?” Magnus pointed.

Lydia followed his finger and slightly paled at the location. “The West Wing. You are in no way to venture into that part of the castle. Majority of it was lost to one of the storms so there is too much rubble and loose parts for anyone to be near.”

“Oh,” was all he could say to that as she escorted him the rest of the way to his bedroom. “Good night, Lydia.”

“ _ Bonne nuit _ ,  _ Monsieur,”  _ she replied and clicked the door shut.

Magnus bid goodnight to Clary as well before he stripped and dressed for the night. He climbed into bed and laid there, restless. The events of the night didn't exactly make him want to fall asleep so easily, nor spend hours thinking too long and hard about what they had said. They were all still people - good, kind people that still had hope for sunnier days. Magnus turned over to look at Clary who had quickly fallen asleep, to his misfortune. She’s probably say something along the lines of:  _ don't worry about it,  _ which would then send him worrying even more. 

Magnus resituated himself on the bed, tossing until it felt  _ just right _ … then he just  _ listened.  _ The wind blowing against the shutters, making the wood rattle occasionally, kept the man from sleeping too peacefully. And it only got worse. Another wave of the storm brewed stronger and stronger. It could be hitting the village right about now. Or perhaps they have already endured its wake and now it was heading to ruin him too.

He forced his eyes shut and fell asleep to the sound of chaos.

The following day was uneventful. 

Magnus had been woken up later in the morning by Clary and her usual antics. She commented on the dark circles hollowing out his face and he brushed her aside without worry. He was accustomed to sleepless nights and facing the following morning with a ball of energy. The rest of the day consisted of sneaking around the castle for another round of food for breakfast. Lunch he was allowed to have alone in his room - with Clary of course. He felt somewhat regretful for the girl. He hadn’t seen her leave the sanctuary of the room and wondering if she had was even allowed to, or able to leave at all during her time there. So he spent plenty of time chatting and eating alongside her to hopefully ease her loneliness.

That night, on his way back to his room after a sneaky dinner, Magnus had noticed something strange. Stranger than normal. Each night he was warned to stay away from a new part of the castle that had crumbled and fallen into dibree alongside the dangerous West Wing. He didn’t even know that the castle had a western part until Lydia had repeated so so often he couldn’t help but become curious about it.

One of his flaws, no doubt.

He saw the slightest flicker of light come from within the stairwell leading to the supposedly dangerous West Wing. The shadows dancing along the light resembled the shape similar to that of Simon and Jace - a candelabra and clock hardly unrecognizable. Their voices drifted easily along the silence with the words of their meaningless conversation and bickering.

_ Yep. That’s them. _

But why were they heading to an unsafe side of the castle?

“Go on,” he was reminded by Lydia. “You need to rest.”

He did. But his curiosity overwhelmed any sense of getting sleep that night. He bid Lydia and Max a good night, gave Clary a brisk greeting and slid into his bed. Magnus waited until he was sure no one else was roaming the halls. Then he waited some more for precautionary measures. To be safe. Clary was quietly snoring in her room, hopefully thinking of the sweetest of dreams while Magnus slid out from his sweet bed and into the dark of the halls. The turns he needed to make to get back to the stairwell of the West Wing were easy enough to remember each night while on his way back from dinner. He made it all the way there without having to panic or turn around. 

_ Why would anyone go to such lengths to hide and entire side of a castle? _

Silence greeted him. Every breath he took was too loud for how quiet this castle was. As he slowly made his way, there were only two floorboards that creaked beneath his feet. And no restless candlesticks or clocks came running at the sound. Lydia had been right, however. 

On the way up to the West Wing, large boulders and bricks of the building had collapsed onto the stairs, leaving gaping holes that plummeted into further parts of the castle below. Magnus looked down and almost couldn’t bring his eyes back up.

_ Safe. _

_ You’re safe. _

The West Wing entrance was even more so daunting in complete darkness. There had been some type of curtain that was originally hanging at its entrance and was now half eaten by moths and the other half torn down to shreds and left to litter the floor like everything else in the castle. Magnus carefully stepped over all of the scraps and rubble throughout the hallway. The entire place appearing to be a maze; deserted rooms and hallways forgotten with time; haunted memories hanging from the ceilings and walls. It reeked of sorrow.

Magnus kept following the steps up to a separate corridor that the chaos hadn’t seemed to touch just yet. Only the slightest bit of rubble lay on the floor, and it could just be mouse droppings. At the end of the hall, a thin sliver of white light seeped out - an adjoining room with a door cracked open just large enough for him to slide past. 

“ _ Dieu _ ,” he exhaled in awe.

There had been no destruction outside of the room, but there was certainly rubble from the building lying about the room. Irony at its finest, he thought. The first thing that caught his attention was the torn and tossed furniture in an alcove of the room. The fabric had been ripped and pulled off along with its padding, and turned into something more suitable - a hashed, stitched  _ bed _ in the middle of what had once been a sitting area. Magnus’s heart throbbed. 

_ How could someone live like this?  _

He forced himself to move away. On the other side, rubble and more furniture bits rested untouched. The dust on everything there was thick enough to coat the inside of a lung. Sitting behind the mess, the moonlight illuminated a painting thrown aside off from the walls. It was fairly large, he noted. Its golden frame suggesting something of importance. 

The man crouched before the mess, pushing everything aside to reveal a large portrait painting of a family. An older man - the father presumably - standing somewhat stiff with all of his fancy clothes on. The only thing to identify him being his old, weathered hands bearing the rings of nobility. His figure almost entirely scratched out, more importantly his face. Then there was an older woman - the mother - with only her face clawed at, the fabric of the canvas hanging limp but easy to push back into place. Magnus lifted the pieces back together, the woman once again whole - and wearing a sapphire diadem. 

_ Royalty. _

Magnus let the canvas fall back in shock. The rest of the family, the young children, was like the mother: the elder son and daughter, and youngest son all slashed across the face. His finger traced over the eldest son where the canvas looked like it been stabbed.  _ So much rage... _

There was something about the family that rattled Magnus’ bones.

_ Those eyes…  _ His finger drifted up towards the eldest son’s face but he ripped himself away, tripping and falling to the ground with a huff.  _ It can’t be. _

At the end of the room was an enclosed balcony, perhaps used for gardening at one point in its life, and in the center was a single podium with a glass lid enclosing a single red rose. The moonlight struck the glass and flower that made the object glow brilliantly, drawing in Magnus like a moth to a flame. Roses weren’t naturally indigenous to the area. His mother had a hard time finding it in the northern villages and that’s where one would be able to find them.

And here one was now. Alive and glowing healthily.  _ In the middle of June... in a snowstorm. _

_ How is it still alive? Was it the glass? It looked thick enough _ . Magnus circled the podium with his wildly dangerous curiosity. The rose was different when up close; the flower was hanging, _ or floating, _ in the middle of its enclosed space; its pigment was darker than one should be; and the majority of its petals were piled up high on the floor, each one blacker than the last. There was only a few more petals left on the thing. A shame, really, for something so beautiful to wither away so easily.

_ Beautiful,  _ he thought.  _ The most enchanting thing… _

_ Why did he have something like this? _

_ “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” _

Magnus jumped back, eyes wide and heart hammering. One moment he was alone and the next, the entire room was full with a single man. His captor was standing there in his full glory, having slid in off of the roof with canines flashing and fists prepared to hit whatever came into reach. In the rays of the moonlight, he too looked terrifyingly enchanting.

_ “WHAT DID YOU DO?” _ he roared again.

Magnus flared. “I didn’t do anything!”

The beast stalked Magnus like prey. “Liar,” he barked.

“I didn't touch it,” he retorted. “It's fine. Whatever it is, I haven't touched it or harmed it in anyway.”

His eyes never left Magnus and the flower. His attention would flicker from the man to the rose ever so often to make sure it was still in the same place. 

“Where did you get it,” Magnus found himself asking. The Beast was certainly giving him the opportunity to speak and he was damn well going to take every chance he got in this place; that's the only thing he has learned since he got there. “I’ve never seen a rose like this. It's.. it's like magic-”

The Beast’s low growl cut him off and chilled his bones. “Get. Out,” was all he said.

There could have been a million different things to say at that point.  _ Get out,  _ was one of the things he wasn't expecting. 

Magnus blanched. “What?”

“GET. OUT,” he roared, baring his fangs and throwing his fist into the bearings of the wall. Cobblestone rained slightly down on the pair, bigger slabs threatening to fall at any moment.

Magnus did just that. 

He ran as fast and as far as his legs could take him. He slammed past all of the doors in his way, stumbling over some of the brick along the floor until he came to the stairwell where the other members of the castle had gathered at the sound of their master’s roar.

“What’s wrong?” Jace asked first. Magnus quickly avoided the man. “What are you doing?!”

_ “I’m getting out of here,” _ he bit back, trying to make this easier on the both of them. For all of their sakes, it was probably the best if he disappear and never come back. Destruction was all he was ever good at.

“Magnus, dear,” Lydia pleaded at the sight of the frantic man.

He didn’t dare stop for them. Not even if they begged him or bribed him with all of the fortune in the castle. 

_Leave._ _Leave and never return. Don’t look back. Do not look back._

“Please, don’t leave!” Simon cried out. “It’s dangerous!”

Max pleaded. Jace pleaded. Isabelle pleaded. They were all screaming his name but the words were already lost to him. Too much noise. All he wanted was to have the castle as far away behind him as humanly possible. His heart beat faster and faster until the rhythm transformed into a gentle hum that pushed him further and further.

* * *

Magnus bore everything the storm threw at him the second he flung himself from the front doors of the castle. The wind was whipping his hair every direction and the snow was getting slushed against his face without remorse. It was as though the entire world was out to get him. But he wouldn’t let that stop him from putting a damn good amount of distance between him and the castle. The steed he stole from the stables steered him from the castle with ease, the poor startled boy much stronger and younger than Ryder, but still timid against Magnus’s frantic hands. 

“Go!” He pleaded repeatedly every time the horse stopped in retaliation. 

_ Faster. _

_ Go faster. _

Tears were blinding his vision.  _ Or was it the snow? _ He didn't have the time or energy to care anymore. The ties between them were cut. No more. He wasn’t obligated to turn back or change his mind. Who was he to them anyways? A waste of space… Magnus wiped off his face. Each inch of distance between him and the castle was that much closer to getting back home and safety. On the other hand, with each step of distance, Magnus entered the darker and more warped part of the wood. It offered coverage from the storm, yes, but there was something else in there with him to fear besides the weather.

 

They smelled him long before they saw him. Rich meat. Fresh meat. A new meal to actually feast on for a good two days worth before having to go out and hunt again. Their fur blended in with the snow and shadows, their beady black eyes the only piercing hint of something alive. The alpha signaled the others and began running alongside the wind with the moon on their backs. 

 

Magnus stilled at the sound of wolves, jerking the horse in the opposite direction - towards the deeper, wilder parts of the forest. For the sake of his life, he was willing to risk it.

_ Faster. _

_ Go faster. _

_ Please. _

The trees twisted into shapes and forms that were not friendly - endarkened monsters reaching out with their long talons to grasp ahold of anything they could ensnare. Magnus’s hair was whipped into some of their branches and one landed a nice cut across the cheek. He wiped away the blood begrudgingly as the underbrush transformed into prickly shrubs and the vines stretched outward towards the horse. 

The wolves signaled again, their call much closer than before.

_ “Go!” _ he urged faster and faster. The horse wasn’t obeying his frantic thrusts.

The animal broke through into a hidden clearing, not exactly the best help in outrunning a pack of wolves. The horse’s hooves sunk into the mud of the clearing before stepping onto a harder, much slicker surface than a clearing should have. Each step they made together followed by a familiar - no,  _ frightening - _ crunch and crack. Magnus pulled on its reins the moment he felt a heavier snap.

_ This is no clearing. _

_ It’s a lake,  _ it dawned. 

A lake was not going to help their situation in the slightest. If fact, it was the exact opposite of helpful - a possible death trap. He didn’t know how thick the ice was to support them or how deep the water was underneath of them. The combined weight of a full man, a full horse, and an unknown number of wolves did not add up well in his mind.

And he was not the best of swimmers.

Magnus jerked on his reins, pulling him back towards the shore to stop at a low growl threatening his existence. It was all black in its glory with black beady eyes and a heavy jaw ready for snapping onto new meat. Behind it stood two more, an odd gray and an off-white one. Both as intimidating as the first. Magnus tried to circle back around, but for every move he made, the creatures made a move forward. 

It was a standoff between man and beast. 

_ Run _ , he first thought.

_ That will get me killed quicker. _

_ Attack _ , the next came.

_ No weapons on hand. _

_ Evade. _ The best of the three options - tire them out then take them out.

The two wolves stepped up beside the first while two more silently came in from behind him. The man whipped around. He was surrounded. Ensnared. Fallen into the perfect trap. The head of the group, the alpha, lowered his head the noise never breaking or faltering leaving Magnus with adrenaline and fear for the thing to smell. Then, they attacked.

Magnus had no time to avoid the wolves from behind as one lunged for the horses legs and the other took a leap for Magnus’ head. The man swore and buckled with the fall of the horse, dodging one wolf to land in the lap of another. 

_ Shit. _

He had to think fast. One wrong move at the wrong time could lead to death.

“ _ Bastards,” _ Magnus swore, getting back to his feet and grabbing ahold of the nearest thing - a decent sized branch. It was better than a chunk of ice, and his only given option at the moment. His gaze narrowed upon the head wolf as it growled and lunged first for the male. 

_ One second. _

_ Two seconds. _

The nightly creature was above him. Magnus swung, hitting the wolf square in the chest and out of the way towards the main bank of the water. It stayed down.

_ One down.  _ Magnus heaved for breath that he just couldn’t manage to keep.

_ “Come on!”  _ he shouted.

_ Four seconds. _

_ Five seconds. _

Two came at him at once. Magnus swung in a wide, full circle, managing to hit one upside the head while the other’s jaw snapped down on his calf.  _ Pain. Irrevocable, undeniable pain.  _ Magnus cried out, biting his lip hard enough to bust it wide open, and jabbed the sharper end into the stomach of the animal.

_ Two more down. _

The man heaved, the fields of his vision swirling and blurring beyond recognition.  _ Not yet. Not yet.  _ He clamped hand down on his thigh, and even that was too close to the area. A surging wave of fire wafted up his leg as the last two wolves stared at him with raw hunger. 

Too slow.

He was moving too slow.

Wounded. Bleeding.

_ I am going to die out here. _

The horse whined, drawing the two wolves attention once more. The animal had managed to get out of reach on the ice, the material breaking more and more beneath its weight. Even the wolves could sense it. One of them warily circled up to the prey, cracking even more ice around them both. The horse cried out again as one of its legs suddenly caved and slid into the horribly chilled water. 

He had to do something. 

He couldn't just leave an animal to die like that.  _ Slaughtered. Alone.  _

Magnus limped towards the steed with his weapon and let out a sharp whistle through his teeth.  _ “Hey! Over here.” _

It turned its head slightly towards the man as though debating. Magnus didn’t let it have the chance to follow through, chucking his only weapon towards the animal and knocking it closer towards the hole.  _ Missed.  _ He had unleashed the primal fight instinct in the animal as it snarled and barked closer and closer towards the man.

Magnus quickly spared glances towards the horse as it managed to climb its way out of the harm of the water, limping out towards the shore.  _ Good.  _ At least one of them could get out safe and alive.

 

From beyond the wolf currently stalking the man, the alpha had regained its footing. The leader slinked its way out of his field of vision. 

 

More slight cracks and splintered splayed out from under their feet. Magnus kept swiveling regardless. He’d take out as many as he possibly could. The alpha leader let out his dominant snarl, growing louder and louder with each step towards him. The other wolf stayed back to allow him forward. He realized: Magnus was his kill and his alone. The man turned to face the beast and stopped short at the sound of a greater, bigger beastly cry.

_ He came. _

_ He came for  _ me. 

His roar split through the trees, sending any living creature running and flying for the hills. The ice beneath him even splintered further at his presence. He could see him peek out first from the shadowed line of trees before the lake as he let out his rumble, gaining the other alpha’s attention. Magnus had ever been so pleased to hear the sound. 

_ Dieu. Bless.  _

The king of all beasts lunged for the creatures. He sent his body barreling towards them both, slamming one easily out further onto the ice. The alpha, however, held his ground and stared the Beast down, hair standing on end. It was a battle of who was the best. But there was no doubt in Magnus’s mind that the Beast would knock the animal down flat in a manner of seconds, however the odds at that moment were not stacked in their favor. The odds were never stacked in Magnus’s favor.

Magnus cautiously maneuvered his way around the two beasts, thinking of a way to get the upper hand. He could sneak in, but risk losing a limb. Or just lunge - and risk getting killed. Magnus hobbled slightly out of the way, one foot settling with a sickening crunch.

_ No. _

Magnus was sent straight into the water.

It was worse than anything he had been exposed to before. Perhaps if all of his experiences with the cold and water were combined and then sent to hell, that would maybe be on the same spectrum of what was happening to him right now. The water stung at his wound, Magnus letting out a quick scream into the water.

_ A waste of valuable air. _ He panicked.

He had never been acclimated to water. The larger the body of water, and the lower the temperature, the more it made his stomach turn and his skin crawl. Any kind of water for that fact made his skin crawl. Showers.  _ Baths.  _ And being wounded and freezing, sinking further and further with every second, was not helping his situation. The panic was settling in his body, shutting down his logical thinking.  _ Swim. It's easy,  _ one would say _.  _ He was too far gone into shock. The cold stunned his leg from working correctly, leaving his flailing arms to make up the rest of the work. 

_ No. _

He didn’t want to die like this.

_ Not like this. _

He never actually  _ planned  _ how he wanted to die. He knew it didn’t want to be by  _ fucking water.  _ His body was eighty percent water. It was too ironic.

His body jerked for oxygen, his vision failing him alongside his limbs and lungs.  _ Cold. It’s really cold.  _ Colder than the water. Colder than any emotion or experience imaginable.  _ Empty.  _ It was numbing and distant and pulling him deeper into the lake’s unknown. 

_ Sinking. _

_ Sinking.. _

_ Sinking... _

But then he suddenly wasn’t. His body was being tugged up closer towards the fresh air -  _ to life.  _ He was thrown onto a patch of ice close to the shore, and instantly started hurling out the other half of the lake that took residence in his lungs. His entire body was once again screaming at him for attention.

_ Breathe. _

Beside Magnus, the Beast was also laying and heaving. The long tufts of fur and hair that made his body look bulky, now sagging and hanging limp with water dripping back onto the surface. He honestly looked like a wet dog. _How long was he in the water?_ _And what happened to the wolf,_ he thought as his eyes drifted beyond the beast before him, towards the only color tainting the serenity of the forest…

_ “Don’t look at it,”  _ the man growled.

Magnus quickly dropped his head back to the cool touch of ice. The rest of his body was still trying to catch up with his surroundings. Cold. Hot. Numb.

Everything was confused; nothing working properly. Like an engine with no oil or a blazing summer season and no crops growing. All there was to think about was the image of that animal  _ torn to shreds… _

He might throw up. 

He lifted his head and turned towards the other creature. He hadn’t really moved, only slightly hunched over to block his view of the other tragedy several feet away. The Beast was poised on his four limbs and shook the water from his fur, red droplets crashing into the water. Roses brought the sense of happiness. Blood, however, flooded his system with dread and heaviness. 

_ “Don’t touch me,” _ Magnus gargled, spitting onto the ice. Everything was rolling, constantly rolling. He felt  _ dirty _ and not worthy of being touched by him. He couldn’t stop thinking...

The Beast recoiled, turning his back on the man. 

The atmosphere around them was too still. The tension between them tangible, as noted, but there was something else.  _ The feeling of being watched.  _ The wind was still blowing softer now and the skies looked calmer. Clearer. Magnus’s gaze fell to the forest. The trees around them were too quiet; no whispers from the wind or comfort from the insects and animals. Everything was still stagnant. At the edge of the wood, where the shadows still lie from the night, was a darker outline of something moving. Prowling. Stalking.

_ “Get down!”  _ Magnus screamed as the wolf came sprinting from the trees, snapping its jaws and swinging paws towards the Beast. He turned as the wolf swiped the beast’s throat, arm, side - whatever it could get its teeth around as one last attempt before it was swiftly sent sailing away from them on the ice.

Magnus scurried away from the duel between them, all too aware of more blood staining the ground. The Beast stayed standing for all of ten seconds before he was bent over, heaving and clutching at his side, then collapsing into the snow bank beside him.

_ Hurt. _

_ He’s hurt. _

_ Bleeding. _

A small part of him told him to stay and help him. A larger part told him to run; Run as fast and as hard as he possibly could to finally get away. This was it: his one and only chance. The horse was waiting patiently on the bank meanwhile his stubborn savior lay bleeding out in the cold.

_ Now. _

_ Leave. Now. _

Magnus half limped, half walked over to the horse and contemplated actually climbing on and riding away. He could see it: A few hours, tops, and he could be back at the village. His mother would welcome him home and they would return to living their lives. Their boring, stale lives. He found himself looking back at the Beast and his heart  _ panged.  _

Magnus swore, taking the horse’s reins and leading it back around towards the dying man. His slumped form twitched slightly at the sound of movement. Magnus clenched his teeth and semi-bent down to the other male.

“I’m sorry,” he started, and he could have sworn he heard the male loose a shaky breath. He swallowed his doubts. “But I’m going to need you to try and stand.”

In the silence of the wood, Magnus felt the shift of something between them. The crack between them filled with something he wasn’t quite familiar with... The Beast beneath him nodded and they both worked together to get his hefty figure to hold support on the horse.

“I thought you said I couldn’t touch you,” the larger man huffed.

Magnus looked at where the two did meet. He had an arm latched around his shoulder and the man’s side pressed up comfortably against his own. The Beast was touching him. And it was warm despite his protests. Magnus sighed.

“Forget that,” he exhaled. “Focus on getting back.”

His side rumbled with the low rumble of the man’s chest beside him, a noise he could get used to perhaps. With time. They stayed in silence the whole way back to the castle, huffing, heaving and panting by the time they slumped against the front doors and collapsed long before the sun rose for the dawn of a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost reaching the end of the road. One long stretch of love and friendship before everything is put to the test. 
> 
> Thank you for those who have stayed with me recently and supported me. Updates may be a little more distanced from here on out, as I am getting ready to transition into my university.
> 
> Have a great day!


	9. Endless Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus tends to the Beast's wounds and learns more about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After such a long time, IT'S FINALLY HERE.  
> I had to rewrite the majority of the chapter and, after such a long period of time, get myself back into the correct head space for these characters.  
> I hope this can appease your appetite until a major break in my school work. Until then: Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Not beta-read.

“You don’t have to do this,” Isabelle said from behind the trailing group of Magnus’ wake. When he had woken up about six hours ago and demanded to see the Beast, everyone - Simon, Lydia, Isabelle, and even Jace - immediately jumped up and followed like puppies. Magnus was touched that they’d be so worried about him; appreciated, but not necessary.

Magnus snorted, turning down one hall after another. While coddling him to death, Lydia was also supplying him the directions to the Beast’s room. “Seeing as I’m the only one with opposable thumbs, I don’t see any other options.”

“We can pick up objects. It’s just not… conventional.” Magnus turned and saw the feather duster pick up a small piece of rubble without any visible fingers, or thumbs. It was as though there were invisible hands, as well as invisible arms, that allowed the woman to do as she pleased like a regular person. Magnus was not in the least bit surprised by the turn of events. It may be the least exciting thing he’s seen since he’s been in the castle.

“That’s great,” he hummed under his breath, just as Lydia said, “Stop. We’re here.”

“You should go in first, you know, thumbs and all.” Magnus glared at Izzy. She returned the glare with the same fire and sass that Magnus had fueled into his, but with more of a flare that he couldn’t identify. Perhaps he had once seen it in his mother’s eyes some time ago, before they ever moved to the village. Hope.

Magnus opened the door to the room and left it open for the others to follow, and to allow light into the hole they crammed him into. Without it, Magnus was sure to trip over his own two feet. The first thing he did was go across the room to open the drapes and free the long rays of light. With a twist of his heel, he faced the large lump in the center of the bed that had hardly even moved at the sound of all their movement. The Beast lied there, unmoving, barely breathing hard enough to be heard. He loosed a low groan when Magnus stood close enough to pull the blanket away slightly to see the extent of his wounds. He looked up for a split moment and saw four pairs of eyes staring wide-eyed back at him.

“You can still back out. Or leave, if you want.” Isabelle. Again.

He made sure to look her straight in the eye as he said, “I’m not going anywhere.” Magnus pulled as much of the blanket away to reveal the long, ragged gouges that lined his right flank. The Beast let out a low, half roar, not awakened but not entirely asleep anymore. After Magnus was ready to start cleaning his wounds, he wasn’t going to be.

“I’m going to have to clean your wounds. Understand?” Another low groan in recognition, not pure agreement. “Okay. You can do this.” He didn’t know whether he was saying that for the Beast or for himself. “Isabelle, can you go get me some things?” The woman nodded, and Magnus listed off a few things that he needed and things he might need; bandages, tape, clothes, warm water, cold water, and some medication for the pain. Unfortunately, the castle didn’t carry anything for that. However, Magnus knew that he could deal with it.

When Isabelle got back with the materials, Magnus ushered them to the room so they didn’t witness any snarling or growling that they weren’t already used to. He doused and rung the cloth until he thought he was ready, and then started dabbing, gently, at the first wound on his side. On contact, the Beast loosed a long, roar that shook the foundation of the castle. Crumbs of rubble were shook free and streamed from the ceiling. Magnus peered over the side and found the man not particularly conscious. Not yet. He thought to himself, this is going to be a very long day.

  


It was the second round of cleaning that the Beast had finally woken up. He was tossing and jerking around when he realized the stinging sensation was not fantasized. It was the soap and water seeping into the open wounds. It took everything Magnus had in him to talk him down and pin him to the bed. The Beast kept roaring, “That hurts! Stop!”

Magnus didn’t. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if you didn’t move as much.”

Another guttural growl. Piercing eyes dug into his skull, but Magnus didn’t succumb to meeting with that eye contact. “I’m not moving at all. It’s you and your horrible bedside manner.”

“My bedside manner has made you last this much longer. You’d have been dead to infection or exposure had I left you alone.” The image of him cold, bleeding out in the woods flashed before his mind making him pause his movements. He shook the thought away.

“What am I supposed to do? Thank you?”

“Well it’d be greatly appreciated.” _Thank you for saving my life, Magnus. Thank you for tending to my wounds, Magnus. Thank you for not leaving me to die, Magnus. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._ Magnus would’ve taken a simple _Thanks!_ If the man had the word in his vocabulary.

“You almost got us both killed.”

“You told me to run away!”

“I told you not to go in the West Wing!”

“You did not!” It was Lydia who had told him. He bit his cheek. This was going to be just between them and the stiff tension between them. Finally, Magnus sighed. “So we’re both at fault. Can you accept that, your highness?”

The room froze. All of the air had been sucked out and replaced with cold, dead silence. The Beast dared to take another breath. “What did you just call me?”

 _Your Highness._ “I’m not stupid. Big fancy castle. Humble servants, who are very worried and waiting outside for you, by the way. I also saw the family portrait in your room, so there’s that.” It wasn’t hard to piece together.

The Beast’s eyes bore into Magnus’ face and finally he gave in and looked at the man. He could see a new light shining behind them, along with a sense of uncertainty and hesitation. “And you still haven’t run away.”

“I ran away the first time, and look what good that did me.” Magnus gestured to his bandaged leg. It was partially covered by the sleeve of his pants, but the constant occasional throb reminded him that it was still there and very much healing. Slowly. Very slowly.

When he looked back up from his legs, the Beast’s has never left his. Magnus could have sworn that his eyes darkened a shade or two. “I’m sorry,” he had said almost so soft that Magnus couldn’t hear, but the words bounced around his head.

“What was that?”

The Beast huffed. “I’m not going to repeat myself if you’re going to be rude about it.”

“Fine. Thank you. For saving me. You didn’t have to do that.” He could have left him out to die as well.

“And you didn’t need to nurse me back to health,” he countered.

“Like I had an option. Simon offered to dress up in the whole outfit and give you a sponge bath.”

And then, the most surprising thing happened. A sharp, high choked noise came from the Beast’s throat that almost made it seem as though he was laughing. _Actually laughing._ Magnus had to do a quick blink to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Of all of the things he thought he had seen, talking objects, dancing silverware, snow, this oversized fog of a man laughing was not anywhere on the list. Magnus smiled - _beamed._ “I like your laugh.”

The rough, clearly unused sound softened. “I like when you smile.”

Magnus didn’t know what to do next. He honestly hadn’t thought this far. He had hoped he’d stay unconscious or at least silent when he worked, not have a full apologetic, philosophical discussion on their lives. He cleared his throat and ignored the burn in his cheeks and ears while clearing away his medical stuff. “So… Shall I let them in? Or should I tell them you’ve fainted and need your beauty rest?”

“Please, send them in.”

“Oh, wow. A please and a thank you all in one go. It’s my lucky day.”

“Don’t push it.”

Magnus grinned to himself. He felt good leaving him, knowing that he was well taken care of and he didn’t want to chase him down and kill him for invading his space. It seemed all was right.

Simon was the first to perk up at the sound of him opening the door, followed by Isabelle, Lydia, and then Jace. “He can see you now. And go easy on him. I’ll be back soon for another rinse, so nothing too quick or too stupid for him. Got it?” They all nodded. “Good.”

Magnus made his way slowly down the hall. He listened at the chat of them all, greeting the man, wishing him good health. One voice, above all else, came out loud and clear. “Well that went well.”

A growl. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

Magnus made sure to make himself scarce for the next hour or two. He knew they had a lot to catch up on.

  


The sun had finally set when Magnus decided it was about time to check in on the Beast. He had made himself company with Max in the dining room. They spoke briefly about what fun things there were to do around here - apparently Hide and Seek or Charades were the only two options. Fortunately enough, Isabelle sashayed her way into the room and whisked Max away for bedtime duties. Max tried to plead the man into getting him out, but Magnus slipped out before the boy could pull any adorable guilt eyes on him. He made his way through the shadows, passing Simon and Lydia on the way, and entered the bedroom to find Jace perched on the side table beside the bed. “Sorry. I can come back later if that’s better…”

“No. No. It’s fine. He just fell asleep anyways.” The clock ticked and he gave a slight shrug before hopping off of the table. Magnus opened his mouth to speak before closing it right back again. “What?”

“Actually, I was wondering… Why do you stay with him?”

Jace stilled for what felt like eternity. His eyes did move about the room however, searching for a way to answer the question as though he had asked for the answer to life. “He’s my brother - our brother,” he said finally, “I couldn’t leave him even if I wanted to.”

“Our?”

“Isabelle. Max”

That made sense as well. It would certainly fill in the missing figures of the family portrait. “Do you ever wish things could be different?”

“Every day. Some days more than others, and more so now than ever before.”

Magnus’ heart panged. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“You have,” Jace said without missing a beat. He rejoined Magnus. “You helped him, and that’s all we could ever ask you for. It’s more than enough.”

“Yes, but something more.” _Something for all of you_ , he hadn’t said.

“Don’t worry about it. We can handle the cards we’ve been dealt.” It was then that Magnus could see the same ferocity that he had seen in the eyes of Isabelle, the Beast, and his mother. “It’s late. You should get some rest too, Magnus. You need to heal as well,” he said, eyeing the new bandage he had put on some time in the afternoon.

“I’m fine.”

A solid tick of the hour hand shifting made Magnus still. “You are most certainly not fine. He is not your responsibility.”

“No…” Magnus spied the man toss in his bed ever so slightly. He looked, for once, peaceful. “But he is now. If I can make it just a little bit more bearable, then that’s what I’ll do. For all of you.”

“You are not an ordinary man, are you Magnus?”

 _Ordinary._ “Me? I’m as plain as they come.”

  


“Welcome back,” Magnus greeted when the Beast finally woke up the following morning to the sound of the birds chirping outside and the sun glare reflecting off of the fresh snow.

“What are you doing here?”

“I like to watch people sleep.”

“What?”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Isabelle wanted me to keep an eye on your wounds while you slept. You were tossing around more than usual and she thought you’d tear something, and you almost did, so thanks for that.”

The Beast let out a small groan of _Your Welcome!_ Magnus tried to keep his urge to whap him upside the head to himself. He distracted himself by looking out the window. He had perched himself in the window seat a few hours ago, and once comfortable, swore to never leave. It was a sweet spot. It might be one of the few seats in the castle that didn’t have the constant grind of rocks up against your spine. Magnus had already almost fallen asleep on the spot. He remembered a time when him and his mother had worked so hard around the house, as they spent most of their time messing around of course, that they had ran outside and fallen asleep in the field. They woke up under the stars and it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. But that was a long time ago, long before the sickness, before the adventure to the village. Before everything.

“What are you thinking?”

Magnus forced himself to think of other things. “How does it snow here? It’s almost the beginning of July, and we hardly get any snow to begin with. Not even ice.”

“I suppose it’s a metaphor of sorts.”

Magnus snorted. “And what metaphor would that be?”

“Cold hands, cold heart.”

It was _cold hands, warm heart_ , but Magnus wasn’t going to burst his bubble so early in the morning. “That’s not a metaphor. That’s a fact.”

“You really know how to hit a man’s ego, huh?”

“Did I not tell you that that’s my profession? Expert Ego Blower. Nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

The man only glared at him from the depths of the bed. “You are a strange man.”

“So I’m told.” Multiple times.

He audibly gulped. Something was on his mind. Magnus eyed him looking at him from head to toe, taking in every detail, especially the lack of a thick bandage on his leg. He had replaced it with a loose, smaller one when he first got out of bed, and then had been recruited by Isabelle.

“Are you healing well?” The Beast finally managed to ask.

“I can walk without limping or flinching. There’s still a small pinch of something there, but it’s tolerable.”

“I’m sure we have something to help that.”

“Thanks for the offer, but it’s fine.” There was nothing. He had already checked. It warmed his heart to think that he actually spared a thought for him, and so he’d do the same. “You should be good to go within the next day. You’ll have limited movement, as far as I can see. No running down halls or dramatic entrances for a bit. I’m sure you can manage.”

“So long as no one goes snooping and asking for one of my _dramatic entrances,_ then all is well.”

“I was not snooping.” He was.

“You were snooping.” He’d never admit it.

The first thing he thought of was: “I was following the light.”

“There was none.”

The next: “Following the noise.”

“It was silent.”

Finally, he had to pull out the big guns to say: “Following my… heart?”

The Beast took it into consideration. His eyes bounced around to see if it could be a correct answer, but all fell short as his face fell as well. “No. Nice try.”

Magnus laughed. “It was worth a shot.”

His laugh started a chain reaction, making the Beast laugh and then Magnus would laugh harder because his voice was ridiculous in the baritone. But at the same time, it was nice. When they calmed down from their antics, the Beast shuffled in his bed as he tried to get into a somewhat comfortable sitting arrangement. “I want to show you something.”

“No. No. No. You’re not going to show me anything until you are healed, then only then.”

The Beast poured slightly, another thing he wasn’t expecting to be added to the list. “Only then,” he parroted.

“Good. I hope you’re a quick healer.”

  


The next morning, as expected, Magnus was in the middle of pulling on his red silk shirt when Simon entered saying that the master was waiting for him in the hall. It was strange that he had come all the way to his room to take him on this mysterious adventure that Magnus still had no clue as to where he could be going. He had traveled the majority of the halls and there was only a handful of locked, or obstructed, doors that he hadn’t gone into. It must be one of them. The man allowed Simon to open the door, revealing the Beast standing there. He was leaned against the frame of the door, using the wood as support for his injuries. Magnus knew he needed another day, but he might be one of the most stubborn men he had ever known.

He straightened when he was spotted, however, then nodded towards the open hall. “Ready?”

Magnus nodded and walked out to the man’s side before they both said goodbye to Simon and went on their own way. Magnus let him have the lead, since he was much taller anyways and could pass him up within three steps. However, the man controlled his speed and kept alongside him.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” Magnus finally asked once they passed his bedroom and onwards. “Another forbidden part of the castle? A hidden passageway? No. You’re taking me to the tower where you’ll push me off and then I’d really be out of your hair. Have you seen how deep that trench is? Another thing that doesn’t make sense in this place…” Magnus allowed himself to take a deep breath to see that the Beast was giving him a look. “What?”

“You’re rambling.”

“I think of it as talking for the both of us,” Magnus said with a wave of his hands. The fact that the man wasn’t either growling, brooding, or yelling at him to run away was odd. The pure silence between them was horribly out of character. “Were you always this quiet?”

He paused. Magnus tried to not notice for how long. “No… Not always.”

“Oh.” Magnus let the conversation drop. _Not always._ He couldn’t see the Beast as a man, chatting away like he was the hottest prince at the ball with a stupid handsome face and stupidly shaped hair, a lady on either arm. But then the prince in his head turned dark, and tall, and the Beast that he was now. Silent. Alone. Afraid.

“You don’t need to be like that…” The Beast jumped immediately into trying to revive their conversation. “Sorry if I made it weird.”

“No. You didn’t do anything. I was just lost in thought.”

“About?”

Magnus wasn’t going to tell him his real thoughts. Instead, Magnus prompted another route: “Did you have a name, at least? Princes normally had names.”

“I have a name, yes.”  And that was all he said. Magnus waited for him to say something. Perhaps the man needed a moment to recall his name, or get through the memories of another time. He hadn’t expected the Beast to continue walking down the hall and down the stairs without ever showing signs of wanting to tell his name. Magnus stopped on the landing of the stairs and impatiently tapped his foot. “Really?”

The Beast stopped in the middle of the stairs. His eyebrows were shot up in genuine surprise. “What?”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Oh. My parents named me Alexander after one of my great-grandfathers, but I went by Alec.”

“Alec,” Magnus tried the sound of his name on his tongue. It suited him. He kept repeating the name over and over in his head like an unforgettable song. “I like that. Alexander’s better. Strong.”

The Beast’s - _Alec’s -_ eyes flew everywhere else but on Magnus. He cleared his throat. “We should keep going.”

With a smirk, Magnus easily closed the space between them. “Lead the way, Alexander. I’ll follow.”

Alec opened and closed his mouth a few times before he actually decided to keep it closed and give a simple nod to the other man. Magnus accepted the silence and followed and followed until they reached a pair of dark, oak doors that he had seen before in passing, or perhaps in failure of trying to open it. He couldn’t remember first seeing it. But the look of anxiety and hesitation in the way Alec moved, pacing, turning in circles, rubbing the back of his neck, Magnus could tell the room was important. Special. Alec finally settled and puffed out his chest with confidence. That was another good thing going for him. “This used to be one of my favorite spots in the castle… It still is. But I hope you can… enjoy it too.”

Magnus had a question poised on the edge of his lips that died the second that Alec opened the large doors with a twist of a key and a hard budge of his shoulder. The heavy wood slammed into the walls to reveal one of the largest, richest library that Magnus had ever seen. He stepped hesitantly into the dusty confines of the room, taking in the very image of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled to the brim with books. There were tables arranged in the center of the room that were also buried deep under piles of books. He had to pick himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “This is yours?”

“Yes.”

“It’s…” Not a single word could encapture what he was seeing, smelling, feeling. Magnus kept himself from crying on the spot, or lunging for the nearest book.

Alec shrugged as he dragged a finger through the dust on one of the tables. “I know. It’s not as big as I thought it would be, but it works.”

“It’s beautiful,” he finished, taking one last spin to see the full extent of wonder and tales of endless adventure that were now sitting on the edge of his grasp.

Without missing a beat, Alec said with a smile, “You’re welcome to use it whenever you like.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

Magnus didn’t know where to start first. The first thing that they needed to do together, and perhaps rope in Simon and definitely Jace into, was cleaning every surface of the library to bring it back to life. He made a note to ask them later. For now, he gravitated to the closest bookshelf and scanned over the names of the various titles and authors. He recognized a few and the rest were lost to him. He scrunched his face up at a particular name he couldn’t pronounce. Alec cleared his voice beside him, saving him from spending too much time fretting over what syllable he should be emphasizing. Magnus turned and saw Alec shifting from foot to foot with a few books in hand. He handed the top-most book over to Magnus. “Here. It’s one of my favorites… uh… perhaps, you could read it… or not. I don’t mind either way. It’s your choice after-all. There are plenty of other things in here you could find.”

“Alec,” Magnus drawled, taking the book gingerly into his hands. “You’re rambling.”

“Sorry.”

“No need.” Magnus turned over the book and spied the elegant text and choice of golden color. He smiled to himself that, of all the books in the library, this would be Alec’s favorite. “ _The Legend of King Arthur?_ I didn’t peg you as a romantic.”

Alec let out this huff, puff, sputter sound that had Magnus looking at him worried. He had thought he was choking on something. “Of course not. It’s about men… manly stuff. And swords. Adventures… and… yeah.”

That was as convincing as a rock. Magnus smiled anyways and opened the book. He felt the pages beneath his fingers and thought it was actually heaven. He closed it before he got too lost. “I’d love to read it. Any others?”

Alec’s face split into one of the biggest, goofiest smiles that Magnus had ever seen. It was the first, and only smile he had seen from the man. Magnus couldn’t help but to return it. “Plenty. What do you… What do you like to read?”

“Shakespeare.”

He groaned. “Don’t tell me: _Romeo and Juliet?_ ”

Magnus mirrored the sound of distaste. He hated Romeo and Juliet only for its lack of common sense. It was beautiful literature, but every time he read the book he would start commenting and shouting as though the characters could hear him. Only in his dreams. “Hamlet,” he corrected.

“Oh. Oh. Really?”

“What? Not enough romance?”

“There’s so much death.”

“Death is natural. Besides, there’s some love in it and it’s better to have loved than to have never loved at all.” With that, the silence between them settled and Magnus thought he’d ruined it again. He turned to the book in his hands, but Alec stopped him with a massive hand pointed towards a part of the library.

“Back corner. Shakespeare should be in the back corner, by the painting of the man with the big mustache. If you’re interested.”

Magnus smirked. “I’ll go there later. Show me more of your favorites.”

They had spent the next many hours in the library, but to Magnus it had felt like minutes, seconds. He wanted to spend every day in there. He could too. Alec chuckled from behind him once they finally decided that it was about time to head back to their bedrooms.  “Do you have enough?”

Magnus could barely see over the large pile of books in his hands. He had to bend around the tower to actually see where he was going. To be honest, he hadn’t thought about how was going to make it up the stairs without endangering himself. “Well actually…” He earned a hard glare from Alec after saying that. Magnus laughed. “Yes. I have enough for the next few hours. Thank you for showing me this place, Alexander.”

Something passed over Alec’s features, but then it was gone, replaced by a soft grin. “You’re welcome.”

Magnus was all of two steps out the library doors and he tripped, spilling the books all over the floor in different directions. There it was: his bad luck again. He blew a strand of hair off of his face and began to pick up each book. He had half back in his arms, one hand on the book in front of him, when Alec’s paw rested on his. Alec had the other half of his pile in his arms and carrying it like it was a pillow. “Thank you. Again.”

“Just start walking. And don’t trip this time.”

  


The next morning Magnus woke up with a book set on his stomach and his pile spread over the mattress like he knocked it over in his sleep, which he probably did. He turned to sound of swishing and the faintest murmur of humming to see Isabelle dusting and sweeping the curtains open. He flinched at the sudden light and memory of him dangling from that window before. It was a horrible idea to begin with. He blamed his impulsiveness and attraction to danger.

“ _Matin,_ Magnus,” she greeted with a smile.

Magnus returned it. “Good morning to you as well, Isabelle.”

“I see you had quite the night.” Magnus’ cheeks burned. They were just books, but Magnus unwillingly thought of the entire evening in the library with Alec. It was one of the nicest times he’s had. “The master would like you to meet him in the dining room for breakfast whenever you’re ready.”

“Breakfast?”

“Indeed. He said there is yet another adventure awaiting you.”

“Of course he would say that. Thank you for telling me.”

She paused her rocking for a moment to come closer to the bed. “You… and my brother… You’re getting along well?”

Looking back, it was a miracle in all aspects that they had gotten along so far despite their previous interactions. Nonetheless, Magnus would have to agree with Isabelle. It could be far worse and there was plenty of room for improvement in the coming days. Alec had truly started to change, or at least start to reveal his character more and more. Magnus nodded. “I’d say so, yes. I see a lot of hope in him.”

“We all do,” she hummed, and Magnus almost missed it. He pretended to not hear it as she went along her way around the room and finally disappeared off into the hall to leave him to get dressed. When ready for the mysterious adventure, Magnus started for the dining room, passing Jace playing chess with Max at the top of the stairs, and Simon changing the clock faces in the foyer. Magnus greeted them all with a dapper _Good Morning!_ They all replied with their own various greetings. Simon tagged along to the dining room. He said it had something to do with his job, but Magnus had an inkling that he was just trying to make sure he didn’t get lost. Again.

“Morning,” Magnus greeted Alec as they entered together.

Alec’s eyes immediately found him. He was placed at the head of the table, just in front of a massive fireplace that was weirdly positioned for a dining room. “Morning. To you as well, Simon.”

“ _O-Oui._ Morning, sir.” And then Simon made himself scarce. Magnus took his seat beside Alec after trying to sit further down the table and earned a growl as response. He smirked while tucking his napkin into his lap.

“Isabelle told me we have some interesting plans today.”

Alec gulped. “Ah… Yes. Izzy has a knack for spoiling surprises.”

“She was just being nice.”

“It must be a good day then.”

Magnus chuckled. “Was that a joke?”

“Perhaps.”

“Sir,” Lydia interrupted with her cart and rattling cups as she moved. She moved gracefully despite the extra weight she was moving and placed both a cup and tray in front of Magnus and Alec. She too greeted them before leaving, and Magnus rose his glass up in a toast. “Here’s to the start of a good day.”

“Agreed.” They clinked their glasses and took short sips of their drinks. Alec took longer because he had the short, delicate stem hooked around his pinkie finger. He got one sip in and when going to place the cup back on the table, it slid from Alec’s finger and dropped to the floor. Alec cursed, but Magnus was the one to swiftly pick it up off of the floor. If Alec had tried, he would have knocked everything over in attempt to grab it.

“There’s a chip,” Alec said as Magnus placed it back on the table. He turned it and saw there was a slight chip in the rim of the tea cup. It was small enough to possibly pass over, but big enough to possibly cause an injury if someone else were to drink from it. Magnus set it aside.

“It’s fine. Things get broken all the time. I’m sure there’s a way to fix it.”

“Do you think everything can be fixed?” Alec asked suddenly.

Magnus took a moment to find the right response. “I believe everything has the potential to, yes. It’s the will and belief that it can be fixed that helps. Then anything can be done.”

“That’s a nice way to think about it.”

“Simply optimism.” Magnus and Alec turned back to the food in front of them. Alec nearly started digging in as though it was a dog bowl on the floor, but Magnus stopped him. He tried teaching how to properly hold the fork and spoon but Alec bent those within three seconds of getting them into his paws. They shared a laugh, and Magnus paused at the slight sensation of being watched. He spared a glance to the door to the dining room and found it was cracked with small shadows standing in the opening. “Alec?”

“Yes? Is something wrong?”

Magnus shook his head, but ushered for the man to bend over and lean in closer. Alec obliged. “They’re waiting outside the door.” He didn’t need to elaborate as to who _they_ were. It was clear. It was too quiet in the castle, all because they were trying to stay that way outside the door to hear some juicy gossip. They wouldn’t allow them the pleasure.

Magnus and Alec turned to the door in question. Magnus gave a short wave while Alec let out a splitting growl that made all of them - Jace, Simon, Isabelle, and even Lydia - step into the room. They all swore before making a sprint out of the room. Lydia was the only sensible one in closing the door behind them with flushed porcelain.

When they were alone, again, Magnus smacked Alec’s thick arm. The larger man acted as though he had inflicted maximum damage. “What was that for?”

“That was a bit excessive wasn’t it?” Alec shrugged like he did nothing wrong.

“They shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”

Magnus made a face and Alec suppressed a chuckle. It really was the start of a very good day indeed. “So where are you taking me now? Is there another, bigger, library that you’re keeping from me?”

“No. This will be outside.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“It’s something… nice.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“Then you’re going to have to wait until we get there.”

  


It was like trying to find the library all over again. Magnus was willingly allowing the man to lead him to anywhere outside of the castle so long as it showed some sort of promise. He bothered him with several _Are We There Yet?_ Alec responded with a prompt growl and side grin. It was nice to know that they were at least trying to enjoy themselves. When Magnus had started losing focus and all of his patience, he began pestering him again. “Are we there yet?”

“We’ll get there when we get there.”

“We’re in a maze.” Magnus thought it’d be good to remind him. He couldn’t remember when they have first entered the shrub infestation, but he was very sure that they had passed the same chipped and overturned rock three times. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

“I live here, of course I know where I’m going… I think.”

Magnus swatted his arm again and Alec pretended that it actually hurt. Magnus allowed them another few minutes before he would begin his line of questioning again. He was on the verge of opening his mouth when Alec stopped in his path. They were standing in front of yet another leafy wall. There were vines and various draping foliage that also adorned the shrub, but Magnus wasn’t sure if he had already seen it before or not. Alec, instead of saying anything, and probably doing it more so to keep Magnus quiet for a few more moments, pulled some of the foliage away to reveal a small arched doorway. They pushed forward to reveal a beautiful atrium filled with dozens of roses. A small pathway wound around the entire area that Magnus was sure to trace and scope through every inch of the place. He passed roses of many different colors until he reached the center where a wooden gazebo was placed. There, dozens of red roses were warped and intertwined into the structure and thriving.

“Do you like it?” Alec asked somewhere behind him. He hadn’t realized he was so close.

“I love it.” Magnus brushed over one of the red petals, rustling a few loose dew drops. “What is this?”

“A metaphor, of sorts.” He scratched the back of his neck. “There was this… woman…”

Magnus held up a hand. He didn’t need to hear anymore. “I understand.” He understood all to well.

“Oh?”

Magnus walked up to another rose and it was as vibrant and lively as all the rest. There was nothing different from one to another. That was the most astounding part of the entire atrium. “I just need to know: is this for a reminder, or a form of punishment?” Before Alec could answer either question, Magnus held up another finger. “Don’t answer. Just think about it.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Magnus roamed and found the flower he was looking for. It was hidden amongst the others, growing outwards towards the sun - the smallest, lightest red rose bud in the moments before blooming. “This one. This one is my favorite.” He showed him before allowing the flower to be hidden once more. Magnus brushed his hands off on his pants and then ran a hand through his hair.

Alec cleared his throat while shifting between his feet. “We should head back.”

“Okay,” Magnus agreed, but he skipped ahead by a few feet to gain the lead. “But I’m leading the way.”

Alec scoffed. “You’re the one who will get us lost.”

“As if. Add expert leader to my list of qualities.”

“Duly noted,” he said blandly. Magnus held his chin high despite the negativity that Alexander was sending his way. He’d get them back in one piece.

Sooner or later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!
> 
> Tune in for another chapter to see what Magnus has in store!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed reading!   
> My tumblr for all things writing ideas, updates and potential art is http://endlesstalesofwonder.tumblr.com/


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